


A Dovahkiin's Lie

by RunTheJewels



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Fluff and Humor, M/M, chaotic good/chaotic neutral protagonist, mlm author, my housecarls dont get paid enough, redguard/breton dragonborn, some gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-17
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2018-10-20 00:38:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 134,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10651389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunTheJewels/pseuds/RunTheJewels
Summary: "I should get a mountain. Name it after myself."From assassins to dragons to would be kings and gods, Felwinter has a habit of getting into trouble no matter where he goes. And its only his fault 70% of the time.





	1. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "...Bandits?" 
> 
> "With magic."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really special S/O to @eazzy--pink on tumblr for giving me feedback on this story. If you love sci-fi, fantasy and Orcs like I do, she's a fantastic person to follow

Chapter One 

It was hot today. Hotter than Moth was used to. He wasn’t going to complain, of course, but he regrets not asking his husband of half a year what the weather was like down in Whiterun and how different it was from Markarth where he spent so many years. 

He learned a long time ago to stop having so many expectations for his life. He never expected to leave the Bagol stronghold and, in a blink, he and his sister were registering for the Imperial Army. In a drunken stupor, alongside his fellow soldiers, he declared loudly that he’d die before he’d quit fighting. In the next breath, he was the Jarl of Markarth’s personal blacksmith, asking some strange dark skinned man in battered Orsimer armor who the Jarl had sent to him for a better set to find him a Daedric Heart. 

Moth didn't expect him to be back so quickly but he was. Something about a “friend” in Winterhold’s magic college. And he certainly didn't expect the man to reject payment in return for Moth’s “company”. 

Now here he was, married, chopping firewood in Whiterun while his daughter ran past with the other kids of the Hold and his husband did Malacath knows what inside. Probably get on his housecarl’s nerves. 

He stopped Lucia with a simple call of her name. The other kids, Lars and Braith he remembered, stopped too but kept their distance. He was aware of how he came off to others. Especially others who had never encountered an Orsimer before. But no one in Whiterun treated him unkindly. Whether or not it was out of basic decency or fear of his spouse, he neither knew nor cared. 

“Where’s your Papa?” he asked the young girl, retying his hair. 

“I think he’s still sleeping, Pa,” she chirped, still breathing hard from all the running. 

“What?” He looked up at the sun, “It’s the middle of the day! Go wake him up.” 

She ran for the house, hoping to get in and get out quickly. She barreled past Lydia, one of her Papa’s multiple housecarls, who was coming down the stairs at the same time. She got to the double doors that led to her fathers’ bedroom, slowly opened it, “Papa?” 

The bedroom was empty. Lucia frowned and came all the way in. She was sure he was still in here. “Papa?” she called again. Again, no answer. She went to the bed, clambered on top and started to feel around the side Felwinter usually slept on. 

Warm. He was here recently. 

She got off on the other side of the bed and her foot kicked into something small and hard. A small bottle rolled away and clattered against the wall. Picking it up, she took a closer look and paid attention to every little detail she could find, like her fathers had taught her. Recently empty and a smell she remembered from watching him brew it yesterday in Arcadia’s old shop. 

An invisibility potion. 

Her head swiveled around the room, wondering where he could've possibly snuck off to. That's when her eyes landed on the long sword leaning against the wall. An slender Ebony sword named “Midnight”. “For the originality,” Papa would joke. She never understood the joke. All she knew was that he would probably be furious if he knew she was playing with it. 

She pattered over to the weapon, took a look around and called, “Papa? Braith challenged me to another fight! Can I use Midnight?” 

No response. 

She continued, “Keep quiet if it's okay!” 

Nothing. Lucia looked around once more to make sure Felwinter wasn’t actually there, wrapped her small hands around the sword’s equally black scabbard and pulled. 

To her surprise, the sword didn't budge. 

Lucia frowned and pulled again, harder this time and was unable to do much as shift its position on the wall. She stepped to the left and tried to knock Midnight over to the floor. First she pushed with just her arms, then with her entire body. She even tried running into the sword from a short distance, only to end up on her back as a result. 

“What are you doing?” The suddenness and gruffness of the question made her jump. Moth was standing at the open door, sweat dripping down his furrowed brow. 

Lucia stood and pointed at Midnight, “Pa, I think there's something wrong with Papa’s sword.” 

“Where is he?” Moth grumbled, stepping into the room.

She suddenly remembered what she was supposed to be doing, “Uhhh…” 

A bang followed by a curse interrupted her. Moth slowly walked over to his side of the bed and looked under to see his husband, half naked and lying face down on the floor; eyes still full of sleep. 

Felwinter gave Moth the sleepy version of that grin he gave everyone when he knew he was in trouble and hoped to charm his way out of it. It worked on the Orsimer more times than he cared to admit. Not today. 

“Do you know what time it is?” 

Felwinter seemed to think about it, “Mmm, Early mor-”

“The middle of the day!” Moth cut him off.The Orc got to his feet and jerked his thumb, “Will you get out from under there? You've got a meeting with the Jarl.” 

Fel groaned and slowly slide out from under the bed. He then rose to his full height, standing only slightly taller than Moth himself. 

“How did you hide from Lucia, Fel? 

“Invisibility potion,” Felwinter muttered, kicking the empty bottle under the bed. 

Lucia was still trying to move the sword, having resorted to kicking it. The sword never budged. 

Felwinter walked over to the sword, grasped onto the hilt for a few seconds and lifted it up.Fel handed Moth the sword and this time, it moved as normal. 

“Magic, ” Moth grumbled, handing him back the blade. He knew magic when he saw it, “For what?”

He placed the sword against the bed, shrugged and smiled, “Farkas. For when I ask him to hand it over to me. He tries for about 20 minutes then he gives up and goes off to sulk in a corner somewhere.”

Moth frowned, “He hasn’t figured out its magic yet?”

“Maybe next time he will,” Felwinter chuckled, “I heard nine is a lucky number for Nords.”  
\----  
“Ah, Felwinter! It's good to see you, friend,” Jarl Balgruuf greeted heartily, clapping him hard on the shoulder. 

Felwinter gave a thin smile, “It is good to see me, isn’t it?” 

Balgruuf laughed, either missing or ignoring the Dragonborn’s snark, “I called you here because I have a bit of a problem.”

Felwinter’s eyes widened and shifted in the direction of the exit, “Does it involve one of your kids?” 

Balgruuf's eyebrows raised, “What? No!” 

Felwinter visibly relaxed, “Oh! Okay.” 

“Why? Is something wrong with Nelk-”

Felwinter shook his head, “No, no! Not at all!”

The Jarl’s brow unfurrowed only slightly, “Are you sure? This Whispering Lady character…” 

“You know kids and their imaginary friends,” Felwinter waved it off. It wasn’t until the shattered pieces of a platter crunched under the Dragonborn’s foot did both men realize they had been walking. Felwinter gestured at it, “See? Energetic, rambunctious, never clean up after themselves. Perfectly normal kids.” 

Balgruuf's eyes narrowed but at least his face relaxed, “Actually, that was Hrongar. He was… throwing things.” 

Felwinter stared at the plate and kept the irritated growl inside his throat, “When do you plan to kick him out?” 

“He’s my brother, Felwinter.” 

“He’s throwing things like a child!” 

“You’ve started three house fires in the last month. Two of them the same house!” The Nord countered, “When should I kick you out?”

“...Alright, I’ll give you that-” 

“I mean, is it on purpose? I'm starting to think it's on purpose. All Heimskr does is scream about Talos. He isn't hurting anyone.” 

“Anyway, this problem of yours?” Felwinter said loudly, hoping to knock the conversation back on track. 

“Ah, yes.” They had reached Balgruff’s throne. He promptly took a seat, “Bandits.”

Felwinter stared for a few seconds, “…Bandits?”

Balgruuf nodded, “With magic. I need you to clear them out,” he explained, reclining deeper into the throne, “And take Lydia with you. She seems bored when you leave.” 

“Why?” The taller man asked, “I gave her free reign to do what she wants when I'm not around. And all she does is sleep-”

“Fel…” 

“And eat my sweet rolls.” 

Balgruuf simply looked at him until he sighed, “As you say, my Jarl.” He bowed slightly and walked towards the exit, scattering the pieces of the plate, “And tell Hrongar to come pick up his mess!” 

Balgruuf rubbed his temple, “Felwinter?!”

“What?” he turned around, arms raised slightly, “Unlike him, I clean up my messes. I put out those fires!”  
\----  
Lydia kicked away a rock coming up to her foot and attempted to stay close to her Thane, who was stomping towards Redoran’s Reach with an indignant look she was more used to seeing on the man’s daughter or the Jarl’s brother when neither got their way. 

The doorway to Redoran’s Reach was clear and unguarded. Felwinter continued up to it at full speed, hunched over and hands balled into fists. 

And he was grumbling too. She heard Moth’s name, the Jarl, even her own more than once. If she hadn't known him as well as she did, she’d be slightly more insulted at the possible choice words he was saying about her. Instead, Lydia picked up her pace, drawing her sword and running past him to squat near the side of the door and wait for him to take the lead and quietly sneak in after he did. 

Apparently she still had a lot more to learn about her Thane, because he stomped up to the solid wood double doors, ripped one off and sent it flying into the cave with just one hard kick. 

He continued inside, not even sparing Lydia a look. She got up and ran inside after him, knowing that every bandit in this camp and the next three camps over probably heard the crash. 

She caught up with him just in time to watch him parry a screaming bandit’s sword away with his own in one hand and send her flying back with a blast of lightning to the chest with the other. The second Felwinter had dispatched her, he stepped to the left, letting an arrow go whizzing past his unarmoured head. Lydia got to him in time to block the second arrow loosed at him with her shield and bash the archer’s head in. 

Felwinter simply gave her a nod, mixed with a look of pure unadulterated annoyance. It was then she noticed that his Ebony armor was covered in some sort of frost and that the air around them had gotten slightly colder. Her Thane took longer to notice. He looked down at himself in confusion and slowly turned around to see the mage the guards feared so much. Hands up, face contorted with concentration, hitting her Thane with what the mage must have thought was a nasty Frostbite spell. 

Felwinter let the mage attack him for a few more seconds before twisting his body and lopping off his head as gracefully as Lydia had ever seen anyone behead a man. The head rolled off and body staggered and pitched forward. Felwinter had to push it off him before continuing deeper into the cave.  
\----  
Lydia found herself finishing off the last two bandits while her Thane engaged their leader on his own. 

For the first time, Felwinter seemed to be on the defensive; ducking under and side stepping attacks in armor that should've made such movements impossible. The Nordic bandit leader was swinging his massive axe like mad, screaming every curse and threat he could think of to the man who had walked into his compound and killed all his people almost single handedly. 

Lydia maintained her distance, ready to step in should her Thane need her. It was when Felwinter was knocked backwards did she start to move in. The bandit leader did the same, preparing to finish the job. 

A devilish smile crossed the Dragonborn’s face and both Nords stopped in their tracks. 

_“WULD NAH KEST!” ___

____

She recognized it immediately. Simple words that hummed with power. Felwinter suddenly shot forward at an impossible speed, kicking up a cloud of dust directly into Lydia’s face. He must have brought up his sword at the last second because the next thing any of them knew, the Nordic bandit had been ran through and pinned to the stone wall by the black weapon. 

Felwinter let go of the sword and stepped back, watching the man die on his own, choking on his own blood.

Then he proceeded to pick the bandit’s pockets. 

“Why does he have a whole rabbit in here?” Felwinter grumbled, tossing said rabbit to the ground. He kept tossing things until he found the man’s coin purse, turning around and counting the septims with smug upturned lips. He paused when he saw her face, “What?” 

She shook her head. 

“Oh, you don't approve, Lydia?” He asked, shrugging and sounding like a child teasing. He tightened the small red sack, “I was going to give this to you but if you don't like then that's fine. My daughter is due for an allowance raise anyway.” 

Her eyes narrowed in disbelief. She raised up her hand anyway. 

He smirked and tossed her the bag of coins. He walked past her, “If you’re gonna judge, at least help while you do it.” He stopped over a barrel and his smile grew wider as he dipped his hand inside and picked up a handful of salt, something he complained about never being able to find. He resealed the barrel with a layer of ice, hauled it onto his shoulder and started to walk out of the cave. 

“Um, Thane?” 

Felwinter’s heavy shoulders rose in a sigh but he stopped and turned to look back at her. Lydia simply rose her arm and pointed to the corpse of the bandit leader, still pinned to the cave wall by Felwinter’s sword. 

“Oh,” He blinked a few times before his face broke out in a wide, toothy smile, “Be a dear, Lydia and uh…grab it for me.”  
\------  
“Your reaction was unnecessary,” Felwinter muttered, holding a block of ice wrapped in linen to his forehead. 

“I don't like being made the butt of some childish joke, Thane.” She spat out his title like it was making her sick. 

“Admit it, it was funny!”

“It was not!”

“You need a sense of humor.”

“You need to grow up!” 

The guards at the front of Whiterun looked at each other and opened the doors to let them in. The streets were well lit for the night and busy as people walked towards the taverns. 

Lydia opened the front door to their home and let Felwinter, still carrying the barrel of salt, inside. She proceeded to stomp up the stairs to her own bedroom. 

Felwinter placed the barrel down, “Good night, Lydia!” he sang. 

A slammed door was her only response. 

Chuckling to himself, Felwinter slowly unstrapped his armor and walked up the stairs to his own room, where Moth was settled with a cup of mead and one of Felwinter’s many books, “Fel. Welcome back.” 

Felwinter groaned and collapsed onto the bed. Moth allowed himself a small smile, “How was the fighting?” 

Felwinter groaned again, louder this time. Moth finished off the mead and pulled off his boots. The Orc sat on the bed, back against the headboard and started running his hands through his love’s tightly coiled black hair. 

His eyes remained closed but Felwinter smiled, “What are you thinking about?” 

Moth tore his eyes away from muscular lines in the Dragonborn’s back and leaned down to lightly scraped a tusk behind his ear, “You’re too tired for what I’m thinking about,” he growled. 

Felwinter pushed himself up, “I'm never that tired.” He pushed into a kiss, pressing the Orc down to the bed. 

Suddenly, a deafening roar echoed throughout the streets outside and the house shook as something sped by overhead. Both men paused. 

Another roar, followed by more buildings shaking. Moth sighed and pushed against Fel, “Go do what you need to do.” 

But Fel dropped back onto the bed like dead weight, “Can't. I'm tired.” 

A third roar. “Fel!” 

Felwinter suddenly rolled himself out of the bed, hitting the ground hard. Shooting up from the floor, he stomped over to his sword, ripped open the door and was greeted by a frightened Lucia barreling headfirst into his lower stomach, hard enough to make even Moth wince. Doubled over, Fel simply grumbled and continued on, forgoing his armor completely.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That's more than can be said for old Grelod..."
> 
> "Who?"

Felwinter blinked against the darkness and winced, “Fucking Oblivion, my head,” the half-Breton cursed, wondering what had hit him this time. His cursing ceased when he took a better look at his surroundings.

A cabin, as far as he could tell. Unkempt and overturned, as if the owners fled and never returned years ago.

Or they were killed. That would explain the dried bloodstains all over the floor.

And the walls.

Ceiling too.

“Ah…just cleaned these damned boots,” he muttered, scowling at the dark red caked onto the soles, “Where am I?”

“Sleep well?” A soft voice suddenly asked. Felwinter gave an undignified squawk and jumped in surprise. The chair would have tipped over backwards if he hadn't caught on to the table next to it.

A laugh, in the same voice, drew his attention to directly in front of him. A small, pale skinned woman in skin tight red-black leather armor reclined leisurely at the top of an old shelf. Most of her face was covered and only her pale green eyes showed. And they bored into him.

Felwinter blinked, “And you would be?” He asked, drawing out the last word.

“Does it matter?” She waved her hand dismissively, “You’re warm, dry and still very much alive. That's more than can be said for old Grelod…”

“Who?”

“Grelod? The woman at the Honorhall orphanage in Riften?”

Felwinter shrugged and shook his head, the blank looks remaining on his face.

Her calm, smooth voice was starting to develop an edge, “The woman you killed?”

Felwinter laughed, “That really doesn't narrow it down, lady.”

“Then how about this. This woman didn't attack you first.”

“Oh… _ooooh,_ ” Felwinter’s eyes widened, “ _That_ orphanage. _That_ lady. Huh…you would think I would remember something like that.”

The leather clad woman chuckled, “Don't get me wrong. I'm not criticizing you. Old crone had it coming. There's just one problem. That Imperial boy was looking for the Dark Brotherhood and that kill, by all rights, was a Dark Brotherhood kill. A kill you stole.”

“Ah…Is it too late to apologize?”

“Yes. Yes, it is,” she answered simply, “But not too late to ah…make up for it.”

The man’s dark eyes narrowed, “I'm a married man, lady.”

She laughed, “Oh, I know. The big Orsimer blacksmith you share your bed with. Sleeps like a baby whenever you’re around. Such an easy target. And that sweet daughter of yours…”

Felwinter gripped the sides of the chair.

“But I decided this would be better. If you'll turn your attention to our guests…”

She gestured behind him and Felwinter followed her hand. To his surprise, they weren't the only two in the shack.

“One of these three has a bounty on their head. All you need to do is find the right head…and remove it.”

Felwinter scowled, “I'm not an assassin, assassin.”

She threw back her head and let out a laughter that filled the shack, “Grelod and that little Aretino boy would disagree!”

“I can make exceptions. Especially for those who harm children,” Felwinter shrugged, “Doesn't mean I plan to make a habit of it.”

“Well, you may want to make a temporary habit of it,” the assassin resumed leisurely swinging her leg, “You don't leave until someone in this room dies.”

“I…I can hear you talking out there,” a deep voice suddenly pleaded from the group of three, “Please, let me go. I've done nothing to you!”

“Get started, killer,” the assassin ordered, “Time’s running out.”

“Is this about that raid last week?!” The voice from before cried out, “I told Holgrim there was no honor in killing sleeping men, but he wouldn't listen! It wasn't my fault, I swear!”

By the time the man had finished babbling, Felwinter was already standing in front of him. He squat down and asked in a soft voice, “Who are you?”

“M-my name?”

“Your name.”

The captive’s muscular shoulders relaxed but only slightly, “My name is Fultheim. I-I’m a soldier. A mercenary. You know…a sellsword-”

“Yes, I know what a mercenary is. One second,” Felwinter rose back up to his full height with a groan, knees crackling loudly. The assassin’s eyes followed him as he proceeded to walk back over to the chair, carry it over to the captives, place it down in front of the Nord and drop into it with a content sigh. “Continue.”

“I've lived in Skyrim all my life,” he continued in his blubbering, “That's all! I’m a nobody! So can't you just let me go?”

Felwinter nodded in understanding, “And would anyone pay to have you killed?”

Fultheim’s head shot up, “What?!” The man started heaving, “Oh gods!” he wailed, “I don't want to die!”

“Oh, will you stop your crying?! It's getting on my nerves!” The captured woman next to Fultheim yelled loudly enough to make both men jump.

“Well, aren't you just a ray of light.”

“You kidnapped me, you little piece of-”

“Anyway, Fultheim.” Felwinter turned back to the shaking man, “Talk to me, big guy.”

He slightly relaxed again, “I don't know. I mean…I'm a soldier. I've killed people, of course.”

“Of course.”

“And there may have been times I got…carried away? But war is war! You can't blame me for that! Please, whatever I did I'm sorry!”

“Uh huh,” Felwinter stared at the sobbing man before moving his seat to the next captive, “Ms. Sunshine.”

She jerked up towards him, “Don't call me that!”

“What do I call you then?”

“None of your damned business who I am!” She screeched.

“Come on. We’re all friends here.”

“If the stupid mask wasn't on me, I'd spit on you!”

Felwinter shrugged, “Sounds like quitter talk, friend.”

“My name is Alea,” She growled after a while.

Felwinter leaned forward, elbows on his knees, “And would someone pay to have you killed, Alea?”

“I'm a mother with six children and no husband! I don't have the time or patience to be ‘nice’!”

“But do you think anything you did warrants death?”

“No!” She pulled violently against her restraints, “By the gods, when I get out of here you're dead! You hear me? Dead!"

“Yeah, I heard you. As did everyone in High Rock,” Felwinter said, standing and picking up his chair again. Before he could sit it down, the well dressed Khajiit was already talking, “If it's all the same to you,” he said, “I’d like to skip the small talk and get to the part where you untie me.”

Fel tiredly rubbed his eyes, “Name, please?” He asked for the third time that night.

"Ahhh... Vasha, at your service,” the Khajiit announced. Felwinter half expected him to bow and despite the circumstances, was almost disappointed when he didn't. “Obtainer of goods, taker of lives, and defiler of daughters!”

Felwinter’s eyebrows shot up, “Quite the titles.”

“Have you not heard of me?”

“Can't say that I have.”

“Ah well. Perhaps I will have my people carve my name into your corpse as a reminder."

“Charming. Really, I'm charmed.” Felwinter leaned back against the chair, exhaling loudly, “So would anyone want to have you killed, obtainer of goods?”

The cat barked out a laugh, “Plenty of people, my friend! But obviously, it's never worked out before, so I'll tell you what,” Vasha leaned forward as far as his bound wrists would allow, “You release me, and I promise my associates will not hunt you down like an animal and butcher you in the streets. It is a win-win."

“Well, I mean,” Felwinter seemed to lost in thought, “It wouldn't be the first time someone’s tried. I've got the Thieves Guild on me, the Thalmor, every Akatosh-damned Dragon in the province-” Felwinter was broken out of his spiel by a small solid object pelting the back of his head.

The assassin was still in her same spot but the air of calm she held around her was gone. Now she was glaring at him. “Time’s up.”

“Ow,” Felwinter muttered, rubbing his head, “Time’s up for what?”

Her eyes widened, “Are you…pick a target and take them out!”

“Oh! Yeah, I'm not doing that.”

She finally sat up off the wall, “Excuse me?”

“What? I told you wasn't an assassin.”

She dropped from the shelf, “And I told you that you don't leave until someone here dies!”

“Yes. About that…” Blue light shimmered and extended from the end of Felwinter’s closed fist, twisting and contorting into a wicked curved blade. He raised the sword at her, “You’re here. Are you not?”

Felwinter barely had time to blink before she launched herself at him. He moved his sword to parry her, narrowly avoiding an opened throat. He then just barely managed to duck out of the way of the returning blade and put some distance between himself and her.

She threw herself at him and he brought his own weapon up again, locking blades with the assassin. She pushed against him with all her weight and her surprisingly considerable strength. She kicked at his knee, dropping him down to one and pushed her blade even harder against him.

Quickly deciding to risk it, Felwinter took one hand away from his sword and threw his open palm out behind her. The assassin heard the snap of magic behind her and the growl of an animal before she quickly twisted around and shoved her dagger into the neck of the pouncing ghostly wolf Felwinter had summoned. The familiar gave a weak whine and went limp against her before fading out of existence.

Her easy victory against the spirit was rewarded with a thick arm snaking around her throats and a shimmering blue sword bursting from her chest.

Felwinter held her as she struggled against him for a few seconds before letting her crumple to the ground. He cautiously walked around to her front and squatted down in front of her body.

Her dimming eyes weakly focused on him. She brought a shaky hand to her face and pulled down her mask, revealing a bloodstained toothy grin.

“Well done,” she rasped; the assassin’s last words.

Felwinter regarded the body for a few seconds before his eyes shifted to her weapon. “That's a nice knife,” he muttered, staring at it only second longer before slipping it into one of his open belt loops, “I’m keeping it.” He started to search her pockets.

“Uh, hello?!” Came Alea’s shrill, angry voice behind him, “What's going on? When are you going to untie us?”

Felwinter turned back to the captives, “Ah. You’re still here.” He walked over to Fultheim first and unsheathed his new blade. The big Nord must've heard the sound because his shaking doubled in intensity.

He grabbed the man’s bound wrists and cut the rope, “Here's the deal. You two are free to go,” he said, moving over to the still grumbling Nordic woman.

He pulled the sacks off their heads and the first thing the Alea did was spit at his boots , “About time!”

Felwinter stared down, “I just cleaned…oh, forget it.”

The Nord jumped to his feet and grabbed the Dragonborn’s hands, “Talos bless you! Thank you! Thank you!”

“Yeah, yeah, settle down.” Felwinter had to yank his hands out of the man’s iron grip.

“Hey! What about me?!”

“I'll let you go on one condition.”

The Khajiit let out an irritated sigh, “Since I'm not in a position to argue, what is it?”

Felwinter pointed the wicked blade at Vasha’s covered head, right above his left eye socket, “I need you to explain that ‘defiler of daughters’ bit. In _exquisite_ detail.”

* * *

“And you call yourself a warrior. Bah!” Alea sniped to Fultheim’s back.

“Oh, shut up, you old hag,” The Nordic mercenary started before another wave of sickness overtook him and his retching into the bushes echoed into the night.

The door to the old shack opened and Felwinter trudged out, “Yeah, sorry you both had to see that,” he said, nonchalantly cleaning gore and fur off the dagger.

“You couldn't just slit his throat like a normal person?!” Fultheim roared, trudging over to the small creek, taking some of water in hand and rinsing out his mouth, “What in Talos’ name is wrong with you?”

Fel barked out a laugh, “What isn't?”

“You said you weren't an assassin!”

“I also said I can make exceptions. Now…” he took a quick look around, “Would any of you happen to know where we are?”

A look of pure disbelief crossed Alea’s face, “You don't know? How do you not know?! You helped kidnapped us!”

“Hey, I was kidnapped too! By dead lady in a corner over-wait a minute.” Felwinter’s head jerked to the side as he started to sniff the air.

The two former captives shared a look and stared as the tall man dropped to his hands and knees and pressed his nose to the ground. Then he took one long, loud inhale. And then another. Finally, he grinned, stood and pointed towards a thicket of trees, “Morthal’s in that direction so I’ll drop you off there. Then I'm heading to Riften. I…I owe some kids…something.”

“So you want us to just walk through a forest a night?” Alea yelled, getting in Felwinter’s face, “How are we supposed to defend ourselves? With just that butter knife of yours?!”

Felwinter rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “You've got a point.”

“So what now? You gonna carry us all the way there on your back?”

He shrugged,“Sure! But I can’t have you screaming in my ears the whole way there, so….” Felwinter brought up his hand and snapped his fingers. Alea’s eyes suddenly rolled into the back of her head and she pitched forward into Fel’s open arms. He carried her unconscious body over to Fultheim and dumped her into his arms. “No-now wait a minute!” He started, “You don't expect me to carry her all the way-” he stopped once he looked into the other man’s eyes.

An inhuman gold flashed back.

Fultheim staggered back in horror as Felwinter's face elongated, his limbs twisted, snapped and reformed and fur sprouted from his clothing. Felwinter threw his head back, his fanged mouth open in a soundless howl to the full moon.

Then he fell forward; a beast standing where there was once a man.

The gold eyes loomed in on the Nord, “ _Scream and I'll knock you out too.”_

The scream that was already building up in Fultheim’s throat froze in his throat. His mouth remained agape until a massive, clawed finger gently closed it. The beast bent over, _“Get on and hold on tight.”_

Against every instinct, Fultheim got on with Alea’s unconscious body. Once they were secure, Felwinter howled to the sky and took off into the trees, leaving the shack behind.

  



	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I'm telling you I heard it. Howling! Those werewolf tales are true!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update. Finals were killer and I graduate college tomorrow. Anyway, enjoy.

“I'm telling you I heard it. Howling! Those werewolf tales are true!” One guard muttered to another. Lucia watched them walk past, chewing on a small piece of bread and leaning against the wall of her home. 

The door opened and Moth trudged out, covered in thick, heavy leather armor; a larger version of what Lucia herself was wearing. He held out a small bow, a dagger and a set of iron arrows out to her. 

She took them and started to strap them on as she had been taught, “Papa, do you think werewolves exist?” 

Moth let out a rumble of a laugh, continuing to check his own gear, “I’ve met a werewolf, little one.” 

“Wow, really? Did he try to hurt you?!” Her eyes were ovals. 

“No. He was quite friendly. Got into a lot of trouble though,” Moth nodded to Adrianne as they walked towards Whiterun’s gates, 

“Sounds a lot like Papa.”

“It does, doesn’t it. Are you ready, Lucia? I need you focused.” 

“Yes, Pa. I'm ready.” 

“You've been practicing with that bow like I asked? Over in the Companions’ training yard.” The Companions’ normally did not let just anyone train in their yard but when your father was Harbinger, there were benefits. Felwinter figured that if he was going to abuse those privileges, something that Moth was no longer surprised to hear him gleefully admit, his family might as well benefit some too. 

She nodded again, “Aela has been helping me. It's fun but I want to learn how to use a sword like you and Papa.” 

They had already crossed the outer gate and were making their way to the open plains. He stopped, “First, you've got to be able to pick one up, little one. But that's for another time. Fire an arrow off. There.” He pointed in a clear direction. 

Lucia shook out her arms and pulled out an arrow. She nocked it and drew back while Moth watched her form. She aimed in the direction he had indicated and loosed the arrow. 

“Well done,” Moth said, belatedly hoping no one was located where it was going to land, “Keep up the practice.” 

She gave him that same proud smile Felwinter gave whenever he was complimented on anything, just with less of his arrogance. The more he had gotten to know the man, the more it seemed he was good at everything he tried. A talented swordsman and an even better mage. It’s what helped keep Moth from worrying too much when he went running off without warning several days ago, which was only usually during emergencies. 

He pushed the inevitable bad thoughts from his mind, “What's the first thing about tracking your prey?” 

“Stay downwind?” 

“Is that a question?” 

Lucia stood up straighter and confidently declared, “Stay downwind.” 

“No.” 

Her shoulders fell, “Is it upwind?” 

He looked down at her, “Are you asking?” 

“Yes.”

He sighed, “Yes, girl, it's upwind. You spend too much time around Felwinter.” Moth started down towards the plains with higher tufts of grass and Lucia ran ahead of him.

“Look Pa, deer tracks!” She almost tripped over herself staring at the ground.

“I see them. Stay focused, Lucia and track-” 

“Found them!” She whispered and ducked low. Moth followed her and peeked through the dry bushes. The deer showed no signs of having heard them, continuing to calmly drink from the small stream. 

Lucia was already nocking an arrow, vibrating with excitement. Moth could already tell how this was gonna go. 

She loosed, right on target. 

At least it was until the animal ducked. 

The deer took off, using the duck to spring forward and clear over the stream before disappearing into the distance. 

Moth walked over to the bushes and squatted down next to his daughter, who looked like she was still trying to figure out what happened, “Now what did we learn?”

She seemed to think about it, “Mm…nothing?” She offered with a smile. It dropped when he glared. 

“It's called string jump, Lucia.” Moth walked over to the now vacant stream and picked up her undamaged arrow, “The sound your bow makes when you let go of the arrow, they can hear it.” 

She looked at her bow, at the creek then up to him as he handed the arrow back, “But I can barely hear it and I'm right here.” 

“They have much better ears, little one.” 

She stood up from the bush, “So how do I stop my bow from making so much noise?” 

“Grow a little so we can get you a better made bow for one.” Lucia glared at him but smiled a little. Moth took a knee in front of her, “And second, aim lower than you normally would. Hold the bow up,” he helped her get the correct aim, “Like that.” 

She let the bow down and brought it back up, a little higher than Moth had shown her. 

She looked at his face and for a second, her eyes flicked behind him. Then they widened.

“Pa?!” Lucia almost yelled. Moth turned around to catch sight of a large horned male deer, charging in what was most certainly their direction. 

The Orc cursed, grabbed Lucia and threw her far off to the side. Then he willed the red into his vision, giving himself into his instincts. He felt the roar rumble in his throats and leave his mouth before he realized what it was. Moth broke into a hard run, bracing himself to catch the deer by the horns and bring it down. 

The charging animal suddenly tripped over itself, falling headfirst to the ground hard. Moth stopped in his own run, almost tripping over the body. When he had calmed down and gotten a closer look, he could see an arrow; embedded into the side. 

Moth squatted down next to the head, staring at it's already glazed over eye, “Huh. It's actually dead.”

Lucia poked her head out from behind a bush, “I got it? Really?!” 

“You did, little one. Really.” 

She crept closer, making sure to keep Moth between her and the animal. Moth shifted away a little, making her come closer. A massive smile blossomed on the girl’s face when she realized the gravity of the situation. The excitement radiated off of her and Moth couldn't help but smile back. He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed, “Well done, Lucia.” 

A large shadow passed over their heads. A reverberating roar shook the earth. Moth cursed under his breath; another dragon. And by the looks of it, the monster was heading for Whiterun. 

The dragon’s vicious roar suddenly became an outraged, ear rending screech as it was surrounded in a blue flame-like cloak. It shakily glided directly over Whiterun and while they didn't see it, both felt the whole world shudder when the dragon slammed nose first into the ground just outside the Pelagia Farms. 

Lucia blinked once and then grinned, “Papa’s back!” She started running in the direction of the city. Sighing, Moth grabbed the heavy carcass by the front legs and with a heave, lifted it over his shoulders and slowly walked behind her. 

* * *

Adrianne heard the gates open and turned to see Felwinter jogging towards her, “That was quick. Probably your quickest.” A young boy at her feet turned around at the sound of his footsteps. He scrambled to his feet and ran to the Dragonborn. 

Felwinter caught him, lifted him up and sat him down on one broad shoulder, “Really? What about that other dragon battle?” 

She quirked an eyebrow, “Which one?” 

“The one where I was half naked.” 

The Imperial woman barked out a laugh, “That doesn’t narrow it down!”

“Come on, it was night. Lydia and I had just gotten home-” 

“Fel?” 

Felwinter’s head swiveled at the sound of his name. Lucia walked in with a giant smile on her face with Moth right behind her, carrying a full grown elk over his shoulders. 

“Moth!” The Dragonborn smiled, “What you got there on your shoulders?” 

Moth’s eyes shifted away from his and narrowed, “I could ask you the same.” 

Felwinter looked up, “Oh, Samuel! Say hi, Samuel.” The boy perched on Felwinter’s shoulder waved shyly. 

Moth’s eyes shifted from Felwinter to Samuel and back. His bottom lip lowered, exposing more of his tusks in an annoyed scowl. 

“He didn't tell you, did he,” Adrianne stated more than asked. She got off the post and went to Warmaiden’s entrance, “I’ll be inside.”

Felwinter sighed and gently let the boy down, “Run inside and get cleaned up,” he said softly. Samuel looked up at him and at Moth before running into the house. Lucia looked up at Moth, who nodded his head towards the house to tell her to do the same. 

With the dead deer still over his shoulders and without a word, Moth started walking towards the back of their home. Felwinter waited till he had passed to follow. The Orc threw the corpse down and took two knives from his belt and handed one to Felwinter. 

Moth made the first cut along the belly, “I thought we agreed no more kids, Felwinter.” 

“I know, it's just…” 

“And then you leave without any word to me or Lucia or anyone.” 

The dark-skinned man’s eyebrows shot up and he stopped in their work, “You…” 

Moth stopped as well, “I what, Felwinter?” 

“I…I was kidnapped, Moth.”

“What?”

“By an assassin. From the Dark Brotherhood. She came in and managed to get me out to some shack near Morthal.” 

Moth growled deep in his chest,“She just walked into our home and…”He pushed the rage back down and looked Felwinter square in the eye, “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” 

“Is she?”

“Of course not.” 

“Good.” Moth muttered, “Doesn't explain why you suddenly adopted another kid.” 

Felwinter huffed out a laugh, “Yeah. There’s a…a whole story behind that.” 

Moth dropped the knife and glared at him. Felwinter’s uneasy smile fell and he looked away. “Remember that old lady? The one who ran the orphanage in Riften.” 

“The one you killed, yes.” 

He flinched at the way the Orsimer said it. “Yes. Her.” 

Guilt stung Moth. “I didn't mean it like that, love,” he said. 

“I know, I know,” he muttered, “I just felt bad the kids had to see that. So I went to Riften and paid to fix up the orphanage,” the man smiled, “Even got some kids adopted.” 

Moth smiled with him, “Including Samuel.” 

“Boy spent the entire time by my side. Asking about magic and dragons and how I beat Alduin,” he laughed, “Couldn't bring myself to leave without him.” 

“Please tell me you didn't kill the dragon with him on your shoulders.” 

“We were already here in Whiterun. I just left him with Adrianne.”

Moth rose to his feet with a grunt, “You can regale us at dinner. After you’ve prepared it.” 

Felwinter’s head swiveled from Moth to the large carcass and back, “Wait, by myself?! Why by myself?!” 

“Lucia killed your dinner and I carried it back. The least you could do is prepare a meal to welcome our new son. Or is that asking too much of you?” 

“Well, no…

“Then I suggest getting started. No messy cutting Felwinter.” 

“Whatever,” he grumbled, playing the part of a petulant child all too well. 

“And no magic either.”

Felwinter let out a long, load groan but he did as told, muttering complaints all the while. 


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So there's this mod called the Portal room that attaches a portal to every home you own. So I figured, Felwinter could have some fun with this. Or get into trouble. Same thing to him honestly.

Moth woke with an undignified snort. He growled and rubbed the blurriness from his eyes. He instinctively reached over for Felwinter only to feel a warm spot on the bed and empty space. He was never up this early. Probably just relieving himself. Moth turned over and resigned himself to getting back to sleep.

The sound of a loud crash and louder cursing ended his plans.

“Divines damn it, Onmund! Be careful!”

Moth hazily remembered the name as he rolled out of bed. He grabbed his pants and the first shirt he could see, sleepily realizing it as Felwinter’s; both hastily discarded when he returned from Solitude the previous night.

“Fel?” He grumbled, trudging towards the stairs, “What's that noise? What are-” he stopped.

Felwinter turned at the sound of his name, several nails between his teeth and a hammer in his hand. Onmund, a mage for the College and quite easily the smallest Nord man Moth had ever met, was picking up books that had fallen from a shelf. Against the wall was an open rectangle, shaped from wooden planks.

“Moth!” He jogged to the stairs, “Thought you'd still be asleep!” He smiled luridly when he saw what Moth was wearing, “Especially after last-”

“What are you doing, Fel?” Moth cut him off when he saw Onmund turning bright red in the back.

“Oh, this? It's a Portal,” he said, as if that was the only explanation needed.

“…To?”

“Our other homes in Skyrim. Got the ones in Markarth and Solitude set up already.” Felwinter walked back to the “Portal” and placed his hands on the sides, “Now we just need to test it out.”

“Is this another one of your weird projects or do you actually have a reason for this?” Moth finished his journey down the stairs and stood next to him.

The Dragonborn shrugged, “Bit of both actually. Save you all the energy in case we have to move again.”

“Awfully altruistic of you.”

“I aim to please, love.” He moved to stand behind Onmund, “You ready, friend?”

“As I'll ever be,” he muttered, yawning loudly after.

“Onmund can read the incantation better than me but he doesn't have the magicka to actually complete it,” Fel explained, “Vice versa for me.”

The Orsimer looked around Felwinter at the young man, “Onmund, have you been sleeping?”

Onmund’s wide eyes slowly turned towards him, “No. No, not really.”

Moth scowled at Felwinter, who raised his hands defensively, “It's not what you think!”

Onmund blinked for what Moth was sure for the first time, “Felwinter has actually been trying to help me sleep but…”

“There was a bit of a slip up when we first tested the Portal in Solitude,” Felwinter explained, “Not sure where it led but he stuck his head through and-”

“Bright. It was so… _bright_ ,” Onmund muttered shakily, eyes getting even wider.

“We might have…breached a Daedric realm. Um…Evergloam, maybe,” The Dragonborn finished, “But we solved the problem! Sort of…”

“And you kept him working?” Moth asked.

“Just after this! We’re almost done.”

The Orc sighed “Should I stand back or…”

“Just a little.”

He moved back towards the stairs, “Don't set our house on fire, Fel.”

He snorted, “Unless you’re Heimskr, there's little chance of that happening.”

“…You’re not lighting fires in his house on purpose, are you?”

“Me? No. Never.”

“Fel…”

“Onmund, let’s get started!” Felwinter jogged over to stand behind him. The mage blinked a few more times, let out a deep breath and began to mutter under his breath. The incantations he uttered were already incomprehensible to everyone but him and he was starting to speak faster.

Felwinter raised both his arms, wisps of dark blue light swirling around them and building in intensity. The wisps of magicka slowly started to flow away from his body and fused into the wall within the wooden borders.

The space sent out a bright burst of light which slowly started to dim until all that was left was a shimmering pool of magic, that rolled like a pool of water.

Felwinter rolled his shoulders, “Finally done.” He held out a hand to Onmund and Onmund tiredly latched onto him, expecting to be hauled to his feet. But Felwinter did nothing of the kind. Instead, he brought the Nord halfway up and snapped his fingers in front of the mage’s face.

Onmund’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and his body crumpled. Felwinter pulled on Onmund before he could hit the ground and threw him over his shoulder.

“About time that worked,” he muttered, adjusting the body.

Moth tore his eyes away from the portal and asked, “You’ve done that before?”

“Yeah, had to use it on some old lady who was yelling at me. Only works if they don't see it coming.” Felwinter jerked his head at the portal, “C’mon. You should see the inside.”

With that, Felwinter hauled Onmund toward and through the portal, disappearing through the doorway. After berating himself silently for a few seconds, Moth ignored his better judgement and tentatively stepped through.

Behind the portal, what Moth saw was remarkable plain. Wooden boards lined the walls and there was plain cobble stone underneath their feet. The ground felt solid under his feet but at the same time not, as if he were on the upper level of a building.

“This…place. It's a go between?”

“That it is.”

“Where is this, Felwinter?” Moth muttered.

“No clue.”

The Orsimer snapped out of his daze and stared at him, “Then how did you build this place?!”

“I didn't! We, I don't know, tapped into it. It was probably built by the same person who originally wrote the book. Shalidor maybe. I call it the Crossroads.” Felwinter started towards another portal, identical to the one in Breezehome, “This one should be it.”

With Onmund in tow, Felwinter stepped through. Moth watched as he disappeared and looked around the room until a dark brown hand suddenly reached through the shimmering doorway, grabbed him by the collar and pulled him through.

He was greeted by Felwinter in what was definitely Proudspire Manor’s basement. He was holding a finger up to his lips and jerking his head towards to stairs. His Housecarl, Jordis, had her back turned to them, sweeping and whistling.

“Mornin’, Jordis!”

The Nord jumped and turned, clutching the broom to her chest. Then she relaxed slightly, “Oh, Thane! And Moth. I see you got the portal working in Whiterun.”

“That we did,” Fel agreed, starting towards the stairs, “Took some doing though.”

Moth wasn't listening. It was just so hard to believe. They were in Solitude. In their basement! And no time had passed at all.

“Aye, Moth!”

“Hmm?”

Felwinter jerked his head towards the stairs, “Jordis and I are gonna take Onmund upstairs. I'll be right back.”

“I'll be here.” Moth went over to the alchemy table, hands tracing the walls. His hands went over one of Felwinter’s many weapons, pulling it out of the rack and examining it.

Moth loved his husband but he never had much love for magic. Especially Fel’s extremely liberal and casual use of it; unheard of in Skyrim but normal in Fel’s homeland of High Rock. But still this, this was impressive. How someone as naturally gifted as Felwinter continually managed to outdo himself will forever be a mystery to him.

“You still tuckered out?” Felwinter suddenly whispered in his ear from behind.

“You worry so much about me. What about yourself?”

“Your nail marks in my back kept me from sleeping.”

“You sleep on your stomach.”

“Still.” Felwinter sighed and started back towards the portal, “I put Onmund in a bed. Jordis will make sure he gets back to Winterhold.”

Moth followed him, “We heading home then?”

“Yes and no,” Felwinter said, disappearing through the portal once again. This time, Moth followed close behind. Back in the Crossroads, Felwinter was already in front of another portal. “Markarth,” he explained and stuck his head through. His headless body raised an arm and beckoned Moth closer.

Like with Proudspire Manor before, being inside Vlindrel Hall was still a bit hard to believe. But there it was, mostly as they left it some months ago. Argis was there, snoring loudly at the dining table.

“Look at him,” Felwinter said softly, “Sleeping like a baby. A…grown, bear sized baby. With a dragon shoved down his throat, gods damn, is he suffocating?”

“No, he does that sometimes.”

“Wow.”

They watched the Nord sleep for a few seconds. Then Felwinter screamed; short and extremely loud. Argis flew out of his chair with a deep voiced squawk of terror. The chair fell back and Argis pitched over with it, ass over head accompanied by a loud crash.

Moth was yanked back through the portal by a guffawing Felwinter, already on the verge of tears. “Gods, that was- that was…”he couldn't bring himself to finish.

Felwinter stood put his head through the portal again. Moth did the same in time to see Argis just then sheath his sword, shoulders heaving with breath.

“Argis,” he called, making the man spin around and his hand return to his sword. The Nord’s eyes widened, “M-My Thane! What…how…”

“Portal. Installed while you were away.” Felwinter gave his signature shit eating grin, “You okay? You look uh…spooked.”

“I…I heard…something.”

“Really?” Felwinter feigned surprise but the laughter was coming out, “Do tell.”

Argis narrowed his eyes. Felwinter struggled to keep his face neutral.

“Was that you?”

“Was what me?”

“The screaming.”

“What screaming?”

“The screaming that came from your direction!”

“Maybe you’re getting old, Bulwark,” Felwinter quipped, nudging Moth playfully.

The big man’s expression became hurt and his tone defensive, “No I'm…I’m not even that…” His eye swiveled over to Moth, questioning.

Moth nodded, Argis became angry again and Felwinter had already disappeared.

“You done having fun?” Moth asked.,

“Yeah, yeah, I'm done,” He answered, rubbing his right shoulder.

“I’ll admit, Fel, this was a pretty good idea. I'm glad you thought of it.”

Surprise crossed his face and he clutched his shoulder tighter, “Really?”

“Really.”

“That's…that’s good to hear cause…”

Moth frowned at the expression on Felwinter’s face, “Something wrong?”

“Remember that portal that may or may not have breached a Daedric realm?”

“…Yes?”

“We never actually closed it,” Felwinter muttered.

The Orsimer felt the hairs on his neck raise, “Which one of these is it?”

After a second of hesitation, Felwinter took the right sleeve of his shirt and pulled it up. Intricate black markings lined and curved all the way up and down his arm. They pulsed bright blue all of a sudden.

Moth moved around for a better view, glaring, “What is that?”

“It's…where the portal spell came from. All of this,” he used his left arm to gesture to the Crossroads, “I had to rework the spell to make these but this was what happened first.” He looked down at his arm, “I messed up the first time I tried the reworked spell and the portal collapsed around my arm when I pulled Onmund out. I’m still not sure what it does.”

The markings pulsed blue again and suddenly it all came rushing back. Every reason Moth had for why he _hated_ magic. Horrible memories of the battlefield; scores of his own comrades brought down by one person’s hand.

He closed his eyes and breathed, separating the memories and the emotions they brought on from Felwinter. When he opened his eyes, he saw Felwinter giving him a look of concern. As if he was expecting to be yelled at. But Moth sighed, “You may want to have your people at the College look at that.”

The man’s eyes brightened, “I will.”

“Think Savos Aren might have an idea-”

“…Moth, he died a while ago.”

Moth blinked, “Right. You’re Arch-Mage now, aren't you?”

“Yeah.”

“Who thought that was a good idea?”

“That's what I asked!” Felwinter pulled his sleeve slowly down and bent over backwards, cracking his back with a groan, “So, you wanna…reenact last night in Solitude?”

Moth lips turned slightly upward when Felwinter moved closer and started placing light kisses against his neck, “You’re not worried about your guest hearing?”

Felwinter laughed and brought his hand up and down Moth’s chest, “Onmund isn't waking up for a _long_ while.”

He flinched when Felwinter’s large hand gripped his backside. “Dog,” he spat without heat.

“I'll be howling like one soon enough.” Felwinter matched Moth’s grin as he started to pull him towards one of the portals.

* * *

 

Moth ran a hand through his sweat dampened hair, “You said Onmund wouldn't wake up.”

“Yeah…my mistake.” Felwinter picked up his discarded pants.

Moth let out a soft laugh as he pulled on his shirt, “First Evergloam, now us. Think we blinded the boy?”

Felwinter waved a hand at the closed door to one of the manor’s storage rooms, “He’ll be fine. He’s seen me in more compromising positions.”

Moth laughed louder, “Really? With who?”

“I don't know, some redhead in Riften. His name eludes me but his accent,” Felwinter let out a purr, “It was fun making him sing.”


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was wearing headphones when I found Meridia’s Beacon. Guess how that went. C’mon, guess! :D

Despite his penchant for troublemaking that bordered on or even sometimes crossed into the realm of blatant criminality, Lydia knew that the Dragonborn had plenty of redeeming qualities. He treated her well, he looked after his friends and she had seen firsthand that aside from being a terrible influence, he was a good husband and father; despite having no example to learn from.

There were more good things about Felwinter she could name. She had a list prepared for whenever he did something that unnecessarily risked both their lives, such as wandering into random, bandit infested caves and she needed to remind herself.

Their current situation was a prime example. Felwinter wanted to search the cave and she was sworn to serve. Now they were fighting against the group of highwaymen they had just walked in on. At least she was fighting. Having already finished off his assailants, Felwinter was picking pockets and breaking open chests.

And singing. About himself, of course.

“ _Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ok zin los vahriin! Wah dein vokul mah_ …something, something, something.” Felwinter frowned, “Should probably get Paarthunax to translate the rest of that song. Hey, Lydia, you okay with a quick trip to High Hrothgar after this?”

“Thane, can we focus on right now?! Please!” Lydia just barely brought up her shield to stop a mace from smashing her across her side. She took advantage of the bandit’s recoil and struck him across the chest.

“A simple ‘no’ would've sufficed.” He flinched when an arrow thudded next to his head and he rewarded the archer’s close call with a bolt of lightning from his palm.

The last of the bandits, a woman with a greatsword, ran at Lydia screaming. Her bellowing and her charge were abruptly cut off when a Shout from Felwinter suddenly locked her in a sheet of ice. Her frozen body skidded forward and Lydia used the momentum to run the criminal through.

The housecarl kicked the bandit off of her sword, shook it off and sheathed it. Felwinter went back to clearing the cave out of valuables. Rather than waste breath admonishing him, she proceeded to help. He had started singing again, stopping at the same place as before. “Could've sworn you hated that song, my Thane,” she reminded as she went through the stock of potions on the shelf.

He raised a finger, “I hate the song in the common tongue.” He continued rummaging through one of the chests, “Translate it to Dovahzul and it sounds amazing.”

“I see.” She picked an Elven sword off the ground and held it up for him to see, “Sir, yes or no?”

He turned to look at the sword and frowned, making a noise of indecision.

“Has a shock enchantment on it.” He had taught her how to recognize enchantments on a weapon and he had an affinity for lightning magic.

“Yeah...but it's ugly…”

“Selling it is.” Lydia put the sword down with the other valuables she had found on top of a linen blanket and wrapped it up before throwing it over her shoulders. Felwinter prepared to do the same with his stash when something caught his eye.

“What in Oblivion…” he lifted a cloth wrapped sphere out the chest. He pulled the covering back a little, revealing a pale white orb that managed to give off a glow even in the darkness of the cave.

Lydia peeked over his shoulder, “What is it?”

“It's mine now, that's what it is.”

She frowned, “Are you sure? It looks magical.”

Felwinter barked out a laugh, “Oh it is! But it's not like I can find out what it does here. Or why these fools had it. You ready?”

“Yes, Thane.”

“Then let's be off.” Felwinter swung the bag over his shoulder. Then he started singing again. “ _Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ok zin los vah-”_

“Thane!”

“Yeah?”

“The song is obviously frustrating you and with all due respect, _Thane,_ it's frustrating me as well. So perhaps you can sing something else?”

He seemed to consider it. Then he smiled that troublemaking smile, “ _Ooooh, there once was a hero named Ragnar the Red who came riding from Whiterun to old Rorikst-_ ah fuck! That hurt, Lydia!”

“Sing…something…else!” She growled behind clenched teeth before stomping out of the cave.

“It's a good song, Lydia!” He called after her, jogging to keep up, “Why do you hate music, Lydia?!”

* * *

 

Adrianne’s hammer paused midway to the bench when she heard the gates of the city open. She took a brief glance before calling, “Honey?”

“Hmm?”.

“Your wooer is back.”

Ulfberth groaned.

As always, Lydia stomped by and Felwinter, with an ice block to his head, looked close to laughter watching her. He stopped and leaned against the post behind Adrianne.

The Imperial continued working, “Your housecarl. She hasn't killed you yet?”

“Not for lack of trying, no.” Felwinter took away the ice block, turned it to water and turned the water to vapor, leaving his hand completely dry, “All I asked is if we could make a quick stop to High Hrothgar before getting back.”

“Is that all?”

“She also doesn't appreciate my singing.”

“No one does.”

“It's because none of you have taste.”

“Maybe but we still have our hearing and we’d like to keep it, if that's not asking too much.”

The guard at the entrance gate snorted.

“See, its that attitude of yours that’s gonna have me stealing your husband one day. Speaking of-” he leaned against the tanning rack. Ulfberth pointedly ignored him, “What’s a man like you working in a dump like this?”

“A dump?!”

Felwinter ignored her and lowered his voice, “A pretty thing like you and your-” Felwinter cleared his throat, “-arm muscles shouldn't be working, least of all here. I'm sure I could put you to _much_ better use.”

Ulfberth snorted, hiding a smile in his beard, “Could you?”

“Second best looking man in Whiterun? Of course!”

“Only the second best looking? Let me guess, you’re the best looking.”

Felwinter laughed at that, a short mirthful sound, “My friend, I'm number four on a good day.”

Adrianne coughed, eyes squeezed shut and shoulders shaking as she tried not to laugh, “Is it Moth?” she asked.

Felwinter winked at her.

“Then the third,” Ulfberth asked, “Is it Vilkas?”

“Well…”

“Anoriath?” he suggested.

“Ehh…”

“Hrongar?” Adrianne called out.

“How dare… you know what? It doesn’t matter. If and when you tire of the old woman over there-” he ducked fluidly under the lump of coal chucked at his head, “-You know I could give you a night you’d never forget.”

“You’re married.”

Felwinter scoffed, “Oh come on, you know we’re open.”

Ulfberth laughed with him, “Thank you but I'll pass, Felwinter.”

“Of course, of course,” Felwinter raised his hands and started to back away towards his house, “But make sure you listen closely tonight. Then maybe, just maybe, you’ll hear a preview of what you might be missing tonight.” He shrugged, “Or don't listen closely. I promise you’ll hear it anyway. Who knows? You might hear your own name a couple of times.”

Ulfberth’s eyes widened and his dirt streaked cheeks turned deep red. Even one of the nearby guards turned around.

Ah, you see that! I got him to blush,” Felwinter cheered, “You owe me a drink, Adrianne.”

The second lump of coal missed his head by hair.

* * *

 

Moth dropped the last of the ingredients into the pot when he heard the door creak open. “It's pleasing to see you again, Felwinter,” he rumbled, having already heard him talking with Adrianne.

“Likewise,” Felwinter sighed as tossed down the sack and gave the Orc a soft, slow kiss, “So Onmund; he’s back safe, he’s feeling better, he still won't look me in the eye after Solitude and I found out what this does. Watch this.”

Felwinter pulled off his gauntlets and pulled back his right sleeve, exposing the black markings etched into his arm. They flashed blue, bright enough to make Moth slightly turn away. When he looked back, there was a blade in Felwinter’s hand. The same wickedly curved one he took off the assassin’s corpse.

“Nice right?” He twirled the blade around his fingers, “I actually left this back in Winterhold.”

“Now it's-”

“Here! Exactly!” He was getting excited, “I can call any weapon or armor set I own to myself, no matter where it is.” The arm markings flashed again and his ebony armor was replaced by a set of fine clothes he had procured when he needed a way into the Thalmor Embassy. “Provided I mark it first,” he said.

“Is it removable?”

“Not in anyway I can see.”

Moth shook his head, “Just…try not to get into too much trouble with it.”

Felwinter smiled slyly, “You ask so much of me. Where are the kids?”

“Saw them at Dragonsreach when I went to talk to Eorlund.”

Fel’s eyebrows shot up, “You and Eorlund talked?”

“I talked. He grunted. The old woman, Maiden-Loom, asked me to deliver something to him.”

“She couldn't do it?”

Moth dropped some garlic into the pot and started stirring, “Her knees are bothering her more lately. She won't go to the Temple of Kynareth cause she doesn't want to take space away from someone who might really need it.”

“It seems like _she_ really needs it.”

“That’s what I told her but she refused.”

“Ah.” Felwinter dropped down into the seat near the door and rested his head on his fist.

“When you have time, you should go see her. She could use your healing.”

“Sure. Tomorrow,” He said. Then Felwinter yawned and continued to watch Moth cook through lidded eyes.

“You keep staring at me.”

“You’re an enjoyable sight.”

The Orc smirked, “Flatterer.”

Felwinter stood, “But not a liar, right?”

He grunted, “I guess not.”

“You guess not,” Felwinter mimicked, wrapping his arms around Moth’s waist from behind and burying his head in his neck. Felwinter was always a heavy, comfortable weight; Moth could feel the vibrations of the ward set around the cooking fire as Felwinter relaxed almost completely against him.

They stood like that for a while; Felwinter slowly breathing into his neck, as if trying to memorize his smell the next time he was away saving the world or getting it and himself into even more trouble. Moth couldn't blame him; he did the same.

“Fel?” He murmured, knowing the man was seconds away from falling asleep, “Felwinter?”

“Mm?”

“Will you be leaving again?”

Felwinter lifted his head and placed it on his neck, “Not anytime soon.”

“It'd be good to have you around. For the kids’ sakes.”

“Just say you miss me, Moth. I promise I won't laugh.” He was already laughing.

The Orsimer growled deep in his chest. Felwinter growled back, “Mm, do that again.”

“You’re annoying.”

“Say you miss me.”

“No.”

“Say the bed gets cold and lonely at night without me there to help keep you warm.” Felwinter brought his hands up and squeezed the thick muscles in Moth’s shoulders.

“You overheat the bed,” Moth said, keeping his voice even and suppressing the shudder the touch gave him, “And if I desired ‘company’, I could find some. Saadia; she might like a second round.”

Felwinter’s grip loosened, “Saadia? The Redguard? From the inn?

“Is there another?”

“Wow…I'm hurt! And also intrigued, tell me everything.”

The door slammed open and Felwinter yelped as two bodies smashed into the back of his legs, almost toppling both him and Moth over.

* * *

 

It was arguably the best family dinner they had in awhile. Felwinter regaled Samuel and Lucia with tales of his adventures; tales that would sound rightfully unbelievable. But this was Felwinter; the man whose knack for ending up in trouble was surpassed only by his ability to think, talk or kill his way out of it.

The kids had demanded one more story out of Felwinter before they went to bed. Moth could hear them just down the stairs as he changed out of his day clothes. Moth was blowing out the last of the candles when Felwinter walked in. Keeping his leggings but foregoing a shirt, he practically wrapped himself around Moth; his size and heat pushing Moth closer and closer towards sleep. And then, “Fel?”

“Hmm?”

“Your pack.”

“What about it?” He slurred into Moth’s hair.

“It's…flashing.”

Felwinter unwrapped himself from Moth and lifted up to look at the sack. He then slowly pushed back the covers and got out of bed, eyes never leaving the bag. He moved slowly towards it, absolutely silent on the usually creaky wooden floors.

Felwinter untied the sack, still keeping himself at a distance. The source of the light was a large white sphere, flashing light on and off.

Moth stood from the bed, “What is that?”

“We found it in a cave,” Felwinter explained, continuing to watch it flash, “We’re not sure what it is.”

“So you brought it here?”

“If it was anything dangerous, the wards in the house would've told me.”

Felwinter placed his open palm onto to the sphere and suddenly shot away from it, scrambling like a startled cat and smashing against the base of the bed.

“Ow fuckin Oblivion! Son of a Daedric…” Felwinter spat oath after loud oath as as he clutched his head .Good thing the walls were soundproofed.

“What happened?!”

“Some…woman! She just started yelling in my fuckin head, gods damn it,” Felwinter cursed again as he was helped into a chair. Moth looked back at the sphere. It had stopped blinking.

“The voice. What did it say?” Moth asked, looking for an empty cup to fill with water.

“Called herself Meridia and that damnable thing her Beacon.” He rubbed his eyes, “She congratulated me for finding it and then demanded I return it to her shrine.” Felwinter took the cup, chilling and downing the liquid.

“Where?”

He sighed, “West of Solitude. Whatever. She can wait.”

“Fel, I know you recognize her name,” Moth said, refilling the cup.

“Of course. But she made sure to scream it into my brain, just in case.”

“Well, do you think she’s the best person to make wait?”

He let out an irritated growl, “No.” Felwinter slumped in his seat, eyes rolling back into his head. “I promised the kids, Moth. I'd be here for at least a month.”

“They’ll be fine for a while longer.”

“No. Fuck that.” Felwinter stood up from the chair, “I can…I can take the portal to Proudspire. Cut the back and forth trip out. Be home before the kids even notice I'm gone.”

The Portal room. Moth had to admit, it still bothered him. In his effort to avoid it, he had almost forgotten it was there. “That…might work.”

“It's still some distance from the city so I’ll have to start moving now. Lydia can stay here.” Felwinter found another roll of linen and wrapped the beacon into it, “Once I’m at Solitude, I can maybe nick a horse or turn wolf to cover more ground. Either way, I’m going to be back within the night.” The marking on his arm flashed and covered his whole body before fading, revealing a set of ebony armor.

The Orc let out a sharp exhale, “I don’t know why she chose you-”

“And I don’t know why you’re even making me go,” Felwinter cut in. He opened the door slowly and moved down the stairs as quietly as he could, “Could’ve easily ignored her like I’m doing like...three other Daedric Princes.”

Moth glared, “...But don’t go getting yourself hurt rushing through this.”

Felwinter palmed the wall and the portal shimmered into existence, “I’ll be careful. See you in a few hours.”

Moth watched him go. Then he sat down next to the fire, deciding he would wait up for him, however long it took.

* * *

 

The beast transformation ended just as soon as Felwinter reached the shrine. He stretched out his back with a pop and looked around to make sure he was alone.

In hindsight, he should’ve taken a horse. Took forever to get Solitude’s guards off his trail.

He could see Meridia’s statue from where he was. He had to admit, even the dark, lightless night it stood out; beautiful and imposing like she probably was. He trudged up the stairs and crossed over to the base of the shrine. He unwrapped the beacon, just a bit hesitant to touch it with bare skin, lest she start yelling in his head again. The wind picked up and he let it snatch the cloth from his hand. Without ceremony, Felwinter placed it down on the receptacle and immediately turned to leave.

Then the ground fell out from under him and it kept on falling.

“ _MORTAL, YOU HAVE RETURNED MY BEACON! FOR THAT, YOU HAVE MY TH-WILL YOU STOP SCREAMING?!”_

Felwinter resorted to hyperventilating. Later on he would think on this moment and realize that the ground had just been pulled out from under him and that he was floating among the birds and the clouds while a shining ball of light yelled at him, so he had every right to panic. But for now, he was focusing on keeping his dinner in his stomach.

“ _A MORTAL WITH SENSE. HOW RARE.”_ He could hear the irritation in Meridia’s voice, “ _YOU HAVE RETURNED MY BEACON AND THEREFORE RESTORED PART OF MY DEFILED SHRINE.”_

“We could’ve just as easily have had this conversation on solid ground, you know!” Felwinter groaned as his stomach fluttered again. He kept his eyes to the ball of light, attempting to ignore the lack of ground under his feet. Attempting and failing.

“A _NECROMANCER HAS INVADED MY TEMPLE AND IS RAISING VILE UNDEAD. IMAGINE! RAISING THE DEAD IN A TEMPLE DEDICATED TO MY WORSHIP! THE NERVE!!!”_ She boomed.

“The gall.” Felwinter muttered deadpan.

“ _SO THEN WE ARE OF ONE MIND!”_

“Wait, what?”

“ _I HAVE HEARD OF YOU, DRAGONBORN. SLAYER OF ALDUIN, WORLD EATER! HERO OF THE MORTALS OF NIRN AND THE SOULS OF SOVNGARDE! YOU WILL KILL THE MAGE DEFILING MY SHRINE AND RETRIEVE MY SECOND ARTIFACT AS YOU RETRIEVED THE FIRST.”_

“Now wait just a minute!”

_“I AWAIT YOUR RETURN, MY CHAMPION.”_

Any further protest died in Felwinter’s throat because before he could speak, the clouds fell away and ground began rushing up to meet him like an old friend.

* * *

 

“This was a bad idea. Why did I agree to this?” Felwinter huffed, just before ducking under a spear of ice, “Right. I didn't.”

The Shades were strong. The mage controlling them, Felwinter knew as Malkoran because he felt the need to announce himself, was stronger. His sword ran straight through one Shade, killing it. The mage kept a safe distance, forcing Felwinter to cut, blast or Shout his way through and for every Shade that was cut down, Malkoran managed to raise another.

Felwinter ducked under one Shade’s sword before sending it screaming away with a quick one word Shout of fire. Then a ball of fire smashed into him, sending him sprawling backwards and his sword spiraling from his hand.

His sword was the last straw.

“Nahkriin!” Felwinter uttered, hand drawing down over his face. The Dragon Priest mask appeared at his command, infusing him with its powerful magic. Then he brought up his arms and started to swirl them around as if he was wading through water. Streams of fire followed his movements, seeking release but forcibly wrapping themselves around him tightly, causing the the Shades back move back.

Through the mask, Felwinter could see the Malkoran cast an armor spell and bring up a ward. He knew what was coming next.

Felwinter released his hold on the fire. The blaze flew across the dark, spacious room, enveloping the screaming Shades and obscuring Felwinter completely from view. Even with all his defensive spells, Malkoran was singed and knocked back by the sheer force of the blast. It was what he deserved for assuming some musclebound Redguard thug had no talent with magic. And that mask. He had heard of it before. There was no way any of his servants could’ve survived an explosion like that. He would have to start raising them up again before his assailant could-

The last thing the necromancer saw was a man in a dark, carved mask emerging almost soundlessly from the blaze and his sword coming down onto his threat.

* * *

 

Felwinter loved the Shout that bent time to his will. He almost wished he could've seen himself through the now headless necromancer’s eyes. Others he had used it on in training described it as making him move much faster than normal, seeming to disappear from one spot and reappear in another.

All Felwinter really did was Shout the Words and then walk.

The surviving Shades dropped with the dead mage. Felwinter let the Dragon Priest mask disappear and trudged over to Meridia’s second artifact. It was a sword seemingly made of gold and pure sunlight. It's base pulsed weakly, probably from constant contact with such dark magic. Felwinter was never fond of necromancy, though he has required its use on occasion, such as getting rid of a dead body by making it follow him out of a city.

The sound of the characteristic clicking of undead caught his attention. Felwinter turned just in time to see the mage’s body decompose into dust and suddenly reform itself as an exceptionally large Shade.

“Really? Really?!” He let out a tired sigh and drew Meridia’s blade, advancing on the monster as it screeched back at him.

* * *

 

Moth was jarred from sleep by a rough shake to his shoulder. He rubbed his eyes, “Felwinter. It's taken care of?”

The man had a tired grin spread across his face and waved what appeared to be a golden sword, “She let me keep it.”

Moth looked from him, to the sword and then back to him “How kind.” He followed Felwinter to the stairs.

His armor disappeared as did his weapons. He unceremoniously dumped the blade against the wall and slumped onto the bed with a groan, falling asleep so quickly and deeply that he didn't notice the rays of dawn’s first light shine through the roof and fall onto his face.

Moth belatedly remembered Maiden-Loom and Fel’s promise to spend time with the children. But like he said before, they could do without him for a little while longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thinking of a part 2 based on how well this does. It won't be as lighthearted because I love pain but Felwinter is Felwinter and taking things seriously all the time is not in his nature


	6. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Downloading Phenderix’s Spell Mod was probably the best decision I've made for this game.

“Fuckin Farengar,” Felwinter grumbled, “Hiding this shit from me.” He continued up Winterhold College’s long spiraling stairs, dragging a very large and very filled wooden chest up with him.

He hadn't meant to just take it. Farengar had questions about Dragon physiology, as if Felwinter did anything else with Dragons besides kill them. He also wanted to know if Felwinter could try and nick a few more scales and some blood from Odahviing the next time he went to go see him. Felwinter had to remind him that he had a family to think about.

When Farengar had opened the chest to retrieve something, Felwinter saw that it contained a plethora of spell tomes. He couldn't resist. He came back to the palace later that night, tricking the guards into believing Farengar was gifting it to him. They even helped him haul it out towards the carriage.

In his own defense, Farengar was an experienced mage but he was always better at theoretical application of magic rather than practical. Felwinter could put these tomes to much better use.

Also he left a note and septims. A lot of septims. Maybe even too many septims. He might have to steal some back.

Felwinter opened the door to the wide open space on the roof of the Arch-Mage’s quarters and dragged the chest out into the open air and the swirling snow. He rolled his shoulders and stretched his back with a groan. Then he broke the lock and opened the chest slowly, his excitement reaching its peak.

* * *

He had several theories in mind about how some of these spells worked and none made any sense. Felwinter had picked one book at random, quickly learned the incantation and cast the spell. Several spells later and now there was a bear attempting to nuzzle him like he was one of its young. He didn’t even know how long it would take to be rid of it.

Before then he had summoned a dog, a wolf, a Spriggan and something called a Riekling. Whatever the hell it was, it managed to freak Felwinter out enough for him to Shout it off the top of the tower and listen as it screamed on the way down. Its body faded away when it hit the ground.

He had managed to kill the Spriggan and the wolf but he refused to attack the dog. Now it just sat by the doors, watching the bear maul Felwinter with nuzzles.

Felwinter summoned a Dremora Lord, not even looking up as armored steps drew closer. He thumbed a few pages forward, “I have some Destruction spells to try out.”

The Daedra nodded, not needing to be told twice. Felwinter closed the book and hopped to his feet. The Dremora walked over to the opposite side of the roof. It drew its sword and with a mighty roar, charged forward, bearing down on the Dragonborn.

Felwinter stepped forward and drew his fist back. Seemingly out of nowhere, stones flew through the air, coalescing around his balled hand. He threw it forward and the mass of rocks shot at the charging Daedra.

The loud impact shattered the boulder and sent the Dremora Lord flying backwards in a cloud of dust. Wide eyed, Felwinter stared at his hand and flexed his fingers, “Oh now that is _nice_ ,” he muttered to himself. Felwinter jogged back to the chest and rummaged for another book, “Get up, Dremora!” he pulled a book out, “We’re doing a lightning spell next.”

The still sprawled Daedra groaned. The dog barked at it in response.

* * *

 

“Alright, so I over did that it on that one,” The Dovahkiin groaned before dry heaving again. He was on his knees, bent over the ledge of the College tower. The last spell allowed him to send a powerful ray of light from his hands that blew the Dremora Lord apart. It's odd name, Divine Destroyer, was fitting. Why it was classified as a Restoration spell instead of Destruction was what he couldn't understand.

“Maybe it's because it hits so hard, you don't feel anything,” Felwinter chuckled darkly to himself before groaning again. In any case, the spell had depleted his magicka to empty and now he was attempting to not be sick over the side of the College of Winterhold.

“Magicka potions,” he muttered, “That’ll do it.” He got off the edge, swaying slightly before stumbling towards the doors. The bear, who had been lying with the dog groaned at him. Felwinter groaned back.

“Colette?” He called, “Aye, Colette!” He slowly went down the winding, dizzying stairs towards the Arcanaeum. Urag was asleep in his chair. He continued towards the quarters for the College teachers, barely noticing the empty halls. He stumbled against her door and slowly pushed it open. She was asleep. Felwinter fleetingly wondered what time it was.

“Colette? Colette!” She jumped with a high pitched squeal. Anger replaced fear when Felwinter waved at her, “What are you doing here?!”

“I need magicka potions and to be honest, everyone else’s taste like crap. Got any to spare?”

She glowered.

“Please?” He added.

She groaned and kicked off her covers, throwing the doors of her cabinet and started grabbing blue colored bottles out of it. “Do you not know what time it is, Arch-Mage? I've got a lecture in a few hours!”

Felwinter took the bag, “Its like, what…”

“It's dawn!”

His eyebrows shot up, “Oh…hard to tell with this blizzard.” He edged towards the door, “Well, I'll let you get back to whatever you were doing.”

“Sleeping!”

“Yeah. That.” He shut the door. He turned to seeOnmund and Phinis Gestor walking through the hall. “Ah, Arch-Mage. Didn't know you were here.”

“CFun while it lasted.” He winked at Onmund, who turned a deep red and excused himself before running off.

“I'm glad I caught you actually. I had a question.” Felwinter started towards the stairs and Phinis followed, “What do you know about Daedric spirits able to take on…realistic shapes? Like animals and the like instead of Atronarchs and Dremora.”

Phinis’ eyebrows raised, “Oh…well it's certainly possible. Word around is that High Rock managed to confirm it, summoning a spirit and binding it into the shape of a multitude of creatures. Problem is usually the amount of time it takes for them to fade away from our realm.”

“Are they like Thrall spells?”

“Oh, no not at all.” Phinis shook his head, “They drain a bit of magicka for as long as they are here. It's almost unnoticeable but it's there. Thrall do not.”

“Got it.” Felwinter started up the stairs.

“That reminds me, Arch-Mage.” Phinis called and Felwinter stopped in his tracks, “We’ve been expecting a certain shipment; a chest of recently developed spells imported from High Rock. Some of them are the same type of Conjuration spells we just talked about.”

Felwinter blinked.

“ It took a lot of effort to get ahold of them, I won't lie, we had to use your name and various titles to convince them but it was supposed to come up from Whiterun’s court mage but it hasn't arrived. You wouldn't, by any chance, have seen it?”

“Nope. Not at all, Phinis,” Felwinter started creeping back towards the door, “But Phinis?”

“Yes?”

“Should I hear anything, _anything_ , I promise you'll be the first to know.”

A hard object suddenly slammed against Colette’s door. “Will the two of you be quiet?!!”

* * *

“Alright. A Centurion Lord?” Felwinter muttered. He felt the dog come and rub up against him. Almost twelve hours and both it and the bear were _still here._

“Heard of a regular Centurion. Killed a few, ran away from a few. But a Lord?” He shrugged, stood and stretched, “Worth a shot.” He couldn't help but wonder how many times those three words have almost gotten him killed.

He shooed the dog and bear back towards the door, making as much space for the summon as possible. The he cast the spell, punching a hole through reality to bring his servant forth.

The Daedric spirit took on its form. Felwinter gaped.

The Centurion was _big_. Bigger than any Dwarven machine he had ever encountered before. It had the same weapons for hands, hard metal shell and permanently scowling face but it stood a head above normal Centurions.

Without warning, the Centurion Lord lumbered towards him, making him help and fall backwards in surprise. It came to stop right in front of Felwinter, bending at the waist slightly and releasing a hiss of steam into Winterhold’s cold air. The dog barked happily at it. The bear simply stared at Felwinter in confusion.

The Dragonborn got to his feet. Slowly, he walked around the machine; his apprehension being replaced with awe and excitement. “This…is…amazing!” He laughed loudly. He drew closer and the Centurion turned to face him, “I wouldn't even have to fight anymore! I just have to summon you and watch you break a Dragon’s neck in one hit!”

The Centurion let out another plume of steam.

Felwinter grabbed its arm and started climbing, “First thing I'm gonna do with you,” he grunted, reaching the shoulder and sitting down, “ Is fix that hole in Breezehome’s roof.”

Felwinter leaned on the Centurion’s head and stared out towards Winterhold. The city was waking up, which served to only as a reminder to Felwinter on just how much time he’s wasted up here. He hopped down, landing hard, “So of course, you can't stay.” He gestured to the Centurion, “And neither can the bear…” He looked over at the dog, who started wagging its tail upon receiving his attention, “But…maybe my kids could use a dog. At least until you up and disappear and I have to summon you back.”

“Alright, how to do this…” He started walking backwards away from the Centurion. It turned to face him but didn't otherwise follow. He would need to hit the Centurion Lord hard enough to severely damage it, if not outright kill it. Most conjured creatures tend to turn on their masters when they are hurt by them badly enough. Between the giants and the Dragons, Felwinter had been stepped on by enough things in his life.

Fel recalled the Divine Destroyer spell to the front of his mind. The foci of the spell appeared in both his open palms and when he put his palms together, fused into a single larger one. With a count to five, he charged and released the spell, blasting out a shining blue ray of light from his palms. The beam smashed the Centurion square in the chest, sending it reeling back and sending the falling snow spinning around them into a blinding flurry thick enough to obscure sight. Felwinter couldn’t see it but he knew he hadn’t killed it and when he heard the metal stomping, he sighed and prepared a Shout to clear the skies so he could finish the job.

He looked up and filled his lungs. The sky was suddenly obscured by the sight of a giant bronze axe dropping down from his head and he instinctively loosed a different Shout than he had planned.

“ _WULD!_ ” He flew forward and slammed against the low wall of the roof. The Centurion’s axe slammed into the ground hard enough to shake loose the packed snow and most likely garner the attention of everyone in the College. Felwinter scrambled to his feet and jumped away just as the Centurion had charged over and stomped down on where Felwinter’s head had been seconds earlier. The markings on his right arm lit up and the ebony sword Midnight appeared in his hand. He cast the Ironflesh spell with his left but before he could move to attack, the bear and dog came barreling out from behind him, launching themselves at the Centurion Lord.

Felwinter cringed when the machine sent the both flying off the roof. He was grateful to not have heard it hit the ground.

The Centurion ran at him again, breaking his through his wards easily and sending him flying back towards the doors. He hit the ledge hard, getting the wind knocked out of him.

Felwinter’s head swiveled towards the door when heard it open. Phinis poked his head through, “Arch-Mage, is everything-” Felwinter ducked to the side, Centurion’s axe just barely missing his head and burying itself within the stone of the ledge. Phinis yelped and slammed the door close.

Felwinter got to his feet, attempting to dive through its legs to grab his sword but the Centurion’s hammer arm caught full on in the ribs, the Ironflesh spell being the only thing that didn't reduce his ribcage to pieces of bone in his lungs. Felwinter hurtled through the air to the opposite the roof, tumbling over the ledge and grabbing onto it to keep from falling a several story height onto solid ice.

“Fucking godsdamn it,” he yelled in panic as he dangled over the edge. Hard stone dug into his palm as he struggled to keep his gri. He heard the stomping come closer and through the smarting of his ribs, Felwinter threw himself to the side, moving away from where he was before just before the Centurion's hammer arm could land there.

A ball of fire splashed against the Centurion. It immediately turned around and slowly started to stalk towards it source, giving Felwinter just enougo time to haul himself onto the roof again.

Phinis had returned with Urag and Faralda in tow and all three were attacking the Centurion with some of their strongest spells. Felwinter ran for the chest of spells, digging through it for whatever might help him. When he found what he was looking for, he had to keep himself from chucking it off the roof in fury. He turned back to where the fighting was still happening.

“ _FUS RO DAH!”_ The Centurion toppled, arms rotating in an effort to keep its balance. Without waiting for it to do so, Felwinter cast the spell. The Centurion Lord’s arms went limp and it toppled backwards, disappearing into thin air before it could hit the ground.

Felwinter dropped backwards, landing on his behind with a grunt. “You three alright?” He called.

“What in Akatosh’s name was that?, Felwinter?” Faralda yelled, leaning against the ledge in an attempt to catch her breath.

“A Centurion Lord,” he yelled back, pressing a healing spell to his throbbing ribs, “Like a regular Centurion. Just bigger, tougher…and meaner.”

Her, Urag and Phinis trudged over to where he was sitting. Phinis offered help up and Felwinter declined, remaining seated. “How did it get up here?!”

Felwinter looked away, “Uh…”

“Felwinter?” Urag called. He turned to see the Orc lift open the chest with his foot. The Dragonborn cursed.

“Is that…” Phinis drew closer to it, “You told me you hadn't seen it!”

“Yes, I know. I was there.”

“So you actually stole it and-”

“Brought it safely up here, yes!” Felwinter cut off, “In…mostly perfect condition.”

Faralda shook her head, “I don't have time for this.” She walked back to the exit.

“Do you realize how much convincing it took to get these delivered from High Rock?!” his large hand squeezing one of the books hard enough for veins to pop. Suddenly, he threw the book to the ground and advanced on Fel, teeth bared.

Midnight disappeared from its spot on the other side of the roof and reappeared in Felwinter’s hand, pointed at Urag, “Woah, woah. Let's not do anything we’ll regret here.”

Urag glowered at him.

Felwinter held his gaze, “Don't think for a second I won't bring that machine back here.”

Urag closed his eyes and calmed his breathing. “Bring that chest down to my library. Ten minutes.”

He stomped off and Felwinter let his arm drop. He noticed Phinis’ concerned look and he smiled, “Don't worry about him. We’ll be getting drunk together in a few hours anyway.”

Phinis leaned against the ledge, “You know how he is about his books.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll…” Felwinter thought about it, “I’ll send a letter to my ma. She’s pretty high up in High Rock’s Mage’s Guild. She’ll get us another.”

“Have her send it here,” Phinis said, “Too many _thieves_ on the road.”

Felwinter grinned.

“How'd you beat that thing anyway?”

Felwinter brought up the spell book, “Turns out these summons last an almost indefinite amount of time. But a Dispel spell seems to do the trick.” He handed it over, “Better than attempting to kill them anyway.”

“Hmm.” Phinis scratched his head, “Felwinter…how many summons can you maintain at once.”

“Can only really manage up to three. Why?”

He shrugged, “Couldn't you have just, I don't know…summoned three Familiars or Atronarchs to get rid of it?”

The Dragonborn went silent for a complete minute. Then he took a deep breath, stood and threw one leg over the ledge.

Phinis scrambled and grabbed at his coat before he could toss himself over completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a backstory for Felwinter:
> 
> He was born to a lower class Breton mother and a Redguard father, who he never met. He was raised in poverty for most of his life and learned basic magic skills from his mother or from getting into trouble and fighting his way out of it. His mother, who had been trying to enter into High Rock’s class restricted Mage Guild since he was an infant finally did when he was a young man and they moved up in Breton society. But Felwinter, who looks more Redguard than Breton, had spent his childhood being shunned and decided High Rock wasn't the place for him. 
> 
> He traveled through Hammerfell, trying and failing to make a living and in some cases, find his father. It didn't work out. The case was the same with Cyrodiil. He finally decided he would move to and live in Skyrim, hoping that the third time would be the charm. He traveled north from Cyrodiil into Falkreath, got caught up between an ambush on Stormcloak’s soldiers by Imperial forces and the rest you already know. 
> 
> To be clear, this story takes place after Alduin’s defeat and ends just before Dragonborn with Dawnguard in between. Book 2 will be over Dragonborn.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fel tries to be a good father

_ \---- _

_ Papa  _ _ dragon _ _ wolf Felwinter _

_ \---- _

Chapter Seven

Ah, Bryling!” The woman was snapped out of her thoughts by the sound Falk’s voice calling her name. She wondered how long Falk had been close by. "It's nearly time to collect taxes on your properties here in the city,” he continued with a warm smile,“ We'll need to visit each home for an assessment."   
  


"Is it that time again already? Very well, let's meet this evening and make the arrangements." She smiled back and hoped it appeared innocent to the others in the Jarl’s court. 

"Oh, well done. Very subtle."   
  


No such luck. "I beg your pardon?"   
Bryling asked. 

Jarl Elisif’s court mage rolled one golden eye. "Oh, I'm sorry, did I imply that you'd be meeting for purposes other than court business? You must forgive me, my dear."

Bryling sighed. Firebeard, living up to his name, bristled, "Hold your tongue, wizard, or you're likely to lose it."   
  


Sybille barked out a laugh, "I should very much like to see you try it, my dear steward." Her challenge was genuine, even if the smile that accompanied it was the farthest thing from. 

Bryling was close to standing and moving in between them. "Stop it, both of you! You're acting like children."

“Ahem!” Elisif cut off their bickering, “If you three are done, we have a visitor.” 

As stated, Felwinter was standing in front of the group, casually reclining against the back railing near the staircase and staring at the argument with a barely contained grin. 

Falk gave the court mage one more glare before turning a small smile to Felwinter, “Thane Felwinter. Our apologies.” 

He waved it off, “Oh, don't stop on my account. By all means, continue!” 

Elisif sighed, “Do you have business here with the court, Thane Felwinter?” The Jarl asked. 

The Dragonborn bowed at the waist, an exaggerated motion complete with hand waving, “No, your grace. Merely alerting you to my presence. Me and my family will be staying here in Solitude for a little while.” 

Erikur, eating nearby, roughly swallowed his food, “Maybe while you’re ‘relaxing’, you can consider joining the war effort.” 

“Again?” 

“Reconsider then!” 

Felwinter scratched his beard, “I'm good.” 

“And you’re supposed to be some great hero.” Erikur threw the bread down. 

“Not by choice, Erika.” 

“That's _Thane_ _Erikur_ to you!” 

Felwinter let out a short laugh, muttering, “Right.” He turned back to Elisif, “I'm here if you need me, my lady.” He turned back towards the stairs, waving behind him, “Enjoy the rest of the morning, my Jarl, Falk, Sybille,  _ Thane _ Bryling, Lief Erickson.” 

“It's Erik…I…I don't even know who that is!!!” Erikur turned bright red. Behind him, Sybille giggled into her hand. 

\-----

Samuel bounced up when he saw him, “Hey, Pa! I heard you arguing with that guy named uh…Ericka?”

“Yes.” 

“Are you guys gonna fight?” 

“Oh Samuel.” He affectionately placed a hand over the boy’s head, “Maybe.” 

Lucia was outside, in the courtyard of the Blue Palace, watching a butterfly move through the flowers. She stretched out when she saw them, “Where next, Papa?” 

“Quick stop by Beirand’s. Then you've got me for the whole day.” 

“No working?”

“I promise.”

Both kids took off sprinting ahead out of the courtyard, almost toppling Captain Aldis over. 

\---

Beirand picked up the heavy and red hot metal band with tongs from the forge. 

“Alright,” the man breathed, “Slowly…slowly.” 

A sudden heat appeared next to his ear, “What you up to?” A voice loudly whispered. 

Beirand’s entire body clenched and froze. “Busy, Felwinter,” he seethed through his teeth. He slowly lowered the metal into the water. Only then did he relax, “What is it that you want?”

The Dragonborn propped himself on the ledge near Beirand’s workshop, “Can't a man visit one of his friends?” He watched his children play with Beirand’s son, Kayd, down below. 

“Man? I still don't believe you're human.” Beirand leaned in to check the cooling metal. 

Fel shrugged, “Little bit of Elf. Maybe some dragon.” 

“Right. Was it…” Beirand paused to snort, shoulders shaking, “Was it your ma or pa that was the dragon?” Beirand barked out a laugh at his own joke. 

Fel’s eyes narrowed, “Has Hadvar been through recently?” 

“Who?” 

“I…never mind.” 

Beirand chuckled again, “So how’s Moth doing?” He pulled the metal rod out of the water and carried it over to the workbench. 

“Still glowering at everything.” 

“You love it.” 

“I do.” Felwinter gazed in the direction of his manor, “You know we’re the only two men married in all of Skyrim?” 

The blacksmith’s face scrunched up, “Really?” 

“Really!” 

Beirand kept hammering, shaking his head, “I don’t believe that.” 

“No, I'm telling the truth!” 

“Pfft!” 

Felwinter came around the workbench, “Come on, Beirand. Would I, Felwinter, lie?” 

“Is that a serious question?” 

“But really, I used to think there was some kind of law against it or maybe a taboo-” 

“There's neither here like that in Skyrim.”

“Then why is it just us?!” 

Beirand shook his head, “I still don't believe you. I'll be asking Moth later.” 

Fel’s stretched out his arms, “By all means.” 

“You all still coming by for dinner?” 

“Yeah, we’ll be there.” Felwinter hopped off the edge and started back down the path. 

“On time?” 

Felwinter raised an eyebrow, “As opposed to what?” 

“As opposed to last time you came over for dinner.” 

“Hey, I was on time!” 

“You went to fight a dragon!” Beirand yelled over his own hammering. 

“And I got thrown through the roof! On time!” 

“The roof still creaks so thank you for that!” 

\----

Felwinter floated under the surface of Haafingar’s river, the cloudiness of the water obscuring the outside world even more so than the mask on his face. 

He took a big breath, the mask somehow filtering air from the water and breached the top of the lake, the mask disappearing on the way up. “How long was that?” He yelled to the shore. 

“I counted to three hundred!” Samuel yelled back. 

Lucia put her hands on her hips, “Are you sure you’re not cheating?” 

“Are  _ you  _ sure I’m not cheating?” Felwinter asked back. He swam to the shore and lifted himself out. He flicked water in Samuel’s face. He walked over to where he kept his clothes and dried his face off with a rag. 

“Isn’t there a spell for breathing underwater?” She suddenly asked.

“…Maybe.” 

“So you did cheat!” 

“The spell only lasts sixty seconds.” 

Her face fell, “Oh…” 

Samuel was closer to the edge, throwing rocks as far as he could, “What about an enchantment?” 

Felwinter tossed the wet rag and it landed on the boy’s head with a wet splat. Then he summoned Volsung to his face and held it out to his daughter. “When did you get this?” 

“Was wandering around some crypt.” He shrugged, “Turned out to hold a Dragon Priest.” 

“How many do you have now then?” 

Felwinter counted silently, “Eight? No, nine! Nine out of eleven.” 

She handed the “How do you know there's eleven?” 

“Farengar.” 

“He still talks to you?” She asked, eyebrow cocked. She was starting to take too much after Felwinter. Or his mother. 

“I took some scales and bones from the last dragon I killed and I let him scrape its blood and guts off of me.” He shrugged, “Walked around smelling for days.” He looked over Lucia’s head back at the nearby ship. Felwinter could just barely make out humanoid shapes running around what was supposed to be an abandoned vessel. A tailed one had another by their long hair and was yanking them in. The other was struggling against their captor. 

“Papa?” Lucia’s voice snapped him out of his staring, “Is something wr-” 

“No! Not at all!” He grabbed her before she could turn around, “Hey, bet I can hold my breath longer than three hundred seconds?” 

“No cheating.” She held her hand out. 

He looked down at it and back to her. “Right,” he sighed. He gave the mask to her and sprinted back to the water. 

\----

“How much you think she’d be worth?” The Khajiit asked, pulling on his captive’s hair for emphasis. 

His Nord partner kneeled to face her, “Before or after I'm done with her,” he said with a lecherous grin. She spat in his face and he raised his hand to strike her in anger. 

“Wait!” A voice called out, stopping him in his tracks. Some Redguard man, short hair and…half fucking naked, practically crawled up the plank onto the derelict ship serving as their hideout. 

“Who in Azura’s name…” The Khajiit dropped the woman. 

“Let…let her go!” The big hero was bent over, huffing for air. The man was dripping wet. The Nord looked over at the shores of Solitude back to the man, jaw slack with shock. 

“Did you…did he…”

“Swim over here?!” The Redguard asked, hands still on his knees, “Yeah. Now please let the lady go.” 

The bandits looked at it each other and after a heartbeat, burst out in raucous laughter. 

Felwinter sighed, conjuring a dagger to his hand and trudging forward. 

Still laughing, the Nord drew his own sword to meet him. Once Felwinter was within range, he lazily brought his weapon up and across, aiming to sink the blade into Felwinter’s neck. 

With a speed that belied his obvious exhaustion, Felwinter ducked under the incoming blade, moving around the man’s sword arm and stabbing the Bound Dagger into the side of his neck. 

The woman stared with wide eyes and the Khajiit’s grip loosened in shock. 

Choking, the Nord man dropped his sword, stumbling forward. Felwinter pushed him out of the way and continued stomping towards the Khajiit. 

“Wa-wait a minute,” he stuttered. He drew a blade and held it up to the woman’s throat. Felwinter stopped in his tracks. 

“Tha-that's right!” The bandit let out a nervous laugh, “Down on your knees, Redguard!” He took his sword away from the woman’s throat, pointed it at Felwinter menacingly and laughed louder. 

“I'm only half.” 

“I don't care! I said down on your knees!” When the sword as well as the arm suddenly dropped to the ground, severed at the elbow by the sudden appearance of a Dremora’s greatsword, the laugh died off slowly before becoming a bloodcurdling scream. 

The captive took the opening to run towards Felwinter. Felwinter’s Dremora Lord took the opening to lop off the Khajiit’s head. 

\-----

“Eight hundred and ten. Eight hundred and eleven. Eight hundred and ten.” 

“You already said that,” Lucia mumbled, using a stick to draw in the sand. 

“No I didn't,” Samuel retorted. 

“Yes, you did.” 

“No, I-” Felwinter burst through the surface of the water, dragging himself towards the surface and collapsing on solid ground. Samuel jumped up, “Papa! I counted to eight hundred and eleven!” 

“Really?” He huffed, bent over at the waist, “Felt…felt much longer than that.” 

“It probably was.” She threw the stick down, “Papa, can we go walk on the path in front of the city? I want to see the trees.” 

Too tired for a towel, Felwinter stood, threw his shirt over his head and grabbed his pack. “Lead the way. I could do with an easy walk after…after all that.” 

Both kids took off sprint. Felwinter groaned and weakly jogged after, begging them to slow down. 

\------

The walk actually was rather peaceful. Lucia named every type of tree, having spent the last several days with her head in a book Felwinter attempted to buy and later stole when his offer was refused, despite the multiple copies the owner had. Samuel kicked rocks down the path. Felwinter would relax but something was just…wrong. He couldn't describe it but he was on edge. 

Even in the trees his children stared at, the birds had gone quiet. Every tiny animal had taken off and Felwinter could feel a nervous restlessness deep in his bones. 

“Hey Samuel! Lucia!” He called out to them, “That's far enough. Gets too dangerous far away from the city.” 

“But you’re here!” Samuel kicked a small stone as far as he could, “Nothing’s gonna mess with us!” 

That didn't help Fel’s fraying nerves. “How bout this? You kids run back to the city gates,” he challenged, “I'll be right on your tail.” 

They shared a look. 

“Whoever doesn't get caught by me gets the sweet roll I've been saving.” 

Felwinter could almost see the dust trail behind them as ran past him. He watched them go farther down the path. 

A snapped branch was his only warning. 

A massive werewolf jumped out from the thicket of trees above and Felwinter tackled the beast mid transformation. He kicked the bigger werewolf off and they started to circle. This beast looked grizzled, scars showing years of fighting as both a person and a beast. It snarled, showing rows of sharp yellow teeth. Spittle and blood dropped from its jaw. Fel wondered whose. 

The werewolf threw itself forward again. Felwinter ducked under its outstretched arms and tackled it, slamming the creature to the ground. Before Felwinter could rend into its face with its own claws, the werewolf brought its legs in and kicked out, catching Felwinter hard in the stomach. 

He flew back, slamming against the stone wall and hitting his head hard. The lapse in concentration triggered Felwinter’s transformation back to human, bringing to an end what was an embarrassingly short fight. 

“Ah Arkay’s balls, that hurts,” Felwinter cursed with a mix of laughter and pain once his mouth had returned. The werewolf’s golden eyes bored into him. Then the eyes closed and the body began to shrink. Hair receded, ears receded; teeth and claws also receded. Left standing in the beast’s place was a beast of a man. Pale skin, long white hair with a matching beard and clad in red and black leather that looked awfully familiar. 

Felwinter coughed, tasting iron, “You know, there are easier ways to get me alone than trying to tear my throat out,” he said, standing on shaky legs. The world was spinning. 

The man’s shoulders were heaving. “You. You killed my brothers,” he breathed, “My sisters. My  _ wife _ !” 

“You’ll have to be a lot more specific than that. But whatever it is, would me saying sorry help?” Everything was hurting but magic wasn't the best thing to use right now. 

The man suddenly lunged forward and grabbed him by the throat, hoisting him up into the air and slamming him back against the wall, “It's too late for sorry,” he growled as his hands tightened around Felwinter’s neck. 

Felwinter grabbed at his big hands, “If I knew Grelod was your wife-”

“Grelod?” The man suddenly dropped him, “Are you…Astrid! The assassin!” 

“Oh. Oohh…” Felwinter rubbed his neck, “Then that would make you…Dark Brotherhood.” 

The man bested his teeth in a venomous smile. 

Felwinter sighed, “I take it you were elsewhere when I invaded the sanctuary?” 

The smile became a snarl. “That's right.”

“Shame.” Felwinter placed a firm grip on both the man’s hands, “You might have actually had been a challenge.” He sent a sharp burst of electricity through his palms, causing the assassins to drop him and go reeling back. The Dragonborn scrambled to his feet, summoning a random sword to his hand and holding it over the assassin’s head, preparing to stab down. The Nord smacked the blade away from his face and knocked Felwinter over before rolling away. Felwinter got up to his feet and turned to face his assailant. 

“Papa!” 

Fuck. 

Both his kids came barreling back down the path. He fought off intense fear in an effort to keep his composure. “Kids, I thought you were heading back,” he said through clenched teeth. 

Samuel jerked a thumb back at the city gates, “We thought you were right behind us.”

“I was! I was just-” 

“Chatting,” a calm voice finished behind him. A large hand landed on his shoulder and the telltale point of a hidden dagger dug slightly into his back, “Catching up with an old friend. Name’s Arnbjorn by the way. A pleasure.” 

Felwinter turned his head only slightly. The assassin was smiling at his kids, looking more innocent and friendly than he thought a professional killer could be. The knife dug just slightly deeper, making Felwinter flinch. A hot drop of blood ran down his back. 

“You kids head back up. Get ready for dinner.” Fel cursed the slight shaking in his voice. 

“What about our sweet rolls?” 

“Later,” he said in a shit attempt to be stern, “Go.” 

The kids looked between the both of them before wordlessly taking off towards Solitude. Arnbjorn chuckled. 

“Leave them out of this,” Felwinter growled, the implied threat lost in the obvious fear. 

“Beautiful kids,” he muttered, “Gonna be a shame to destroy such…sweet innocence.”

Felwinter let out a shaky breath. 

“It's always an experience,” he continued, “Watching children come across the body of a dead parent. Watching the all the light and happiness leave their eyes and never return. I would sometimes even stay behind just to watch.” 

Fel remained silent. 

Arnbjorn’s grip on his shoulder tightened and he positioned himself away slightly, preparing to drive the knife forward, “I wouldn't worry,” he assured, “They won't live long enough to mourn you. And before I kill them and that ugly animal you share your bed with, I’ll make sure they know  _ exactly _ who is at fault.” 

Felwinter’s hand squeezed. Behind them, a dog barked and growled. 

Arnbjorn turned his head in time to see a bright blue wolf gunning for him. Before he could turn completely, a palm hit him in the side and the familiar flash of magic washed over him. Arnbjorn let out a sharp groan and fell to the ground, unable to move in the slightest. 

“You see…there's this thing called a line.” Felwinter’s voice had become strangely soft. Arnbjorn heard his footsteps come closer and out of the side of his eye, watched Felwinter take a knee and bring his face closer to his own. 

Felwinter’s eyes were wide and unblinking. His pupils were almost inhumanly tiny and a thick throbbing vein pulsating along the side of his head. 

Arnbjorn had faced a dragon before. He had been fortunate enough to live but the memory never left him. Now this… “man”, with nothing but an unwavering stare, managed to bring up that same physical reaction. It was like he was back there again, facing down the dragon. 

He couldn't run away this time. 

Felwinter’s hand fell in his back again and another pulse of magic washed over him, taking away any ability to move he may have been gaining back. He then walked over to his pack and dug into it, fishing out a brown bottle of mead. He pulled the cork out, took a pull from it and unceremoniously dumped the rest of its content over Arnbjorn’s back. 

He threw the bottle away and magically dried the assassin off. Felwinter bent down and picked him up, placing the paralyzed man over his back. Felwinter started up the trail towards the City gates. It was dark now. The guards would be carrying torches and changing rotations. 

Felwinter kept striding up, as if he weren't carrying a paralyzed man on his back. The guards watched him come closer before calling out, “Good evening Thane. I trust everything is well?” 

“Perfectly fine, friends!” Both his voice and expression were light and happy. His eyes were still wide. His pupils still tiny. 

The guard shifted uncomfortably at his gaze. “Who…who’s that on your back sir?” 

“Ah, this fool? Challenged me and lost.” He smiled brightly. All teeth. 

“Challenged you, Thane? I don't under-” 

“Aw! Can't you tell?” The other guard waved a hand his hand in front of his covered face, “Man smells like a brewery!” 

“We can take him off your hands if you like, Dovahkiin.” 

But Fel shook his head, “Don't bother. He’s a friend. And I'll make sure to take good care of him.” With that, they let him through. Arnbjorn struggled to move or shift, give off some sign that he wasn't as drunkenly unconscious as he was made out to be. 

“Don't bother,” Felwinter growled as he walked him through Solitude, “You’re not the first body I've had to walk through this city. Nor the second.”

No one bothered to look closely at the pair. The city dwellers scrunched their noses up and moved away as they passed. Occasionally, Arnbjorn would feel a finger twitch only for his captor to paralyze him with a spell once again. 

Felwinter took them through several gates, checking around to make sure he was not being followed or seen. He took the hidden path along Castle Dour’s wall leading to the Blue Palace until it ended behind the palace, over the open cliff. 

Felwinter unceremoniously threw the assassin down and with one arm, lifted him up by the throat with strength he didn't seem to possess before. 

Felwinter stared back, eyes still wide and colder than Arnbjorn had ever seen on even the hardest killers. “Do you know how your wife died?” He drawled, slowly; calmly, “Sword through the back. Poor thing bled out.” Felwinter laughed to himself, “Funny part is, she fell for that same trick too.” He smiled, “It's funnier with you. Big dog scared of a smaller dog.” 

Arnbjorn’s eyes twitched in rage. 

“I was going to be nicer about killing her. Honest.” He shrugged, “But then she threatened my husband. My  _ kids _ .” 

Felwinter’s arm suddenly lit up the dark and a wickedly curved blade appeared in his tight grip. The assassin’s eyes widened slightly in recognition. 

Fel lifted the blade up, “Alduin learned this lesson the hard way. Your wife learned this lesson the hard way.” The waves crashed loudly against the mountain, “Now you will. You do not  _ ever  _ threaten my family.” 

The assassin’s arm twitched. The spell was wearing off. Felwinter took the dagger and viciously punctured a hole into the Arnbjorn’s windpipe. Forcefully overcoming the magic, the assassin’s hands flew up and clutched at his throat. Panic filled his eyes as blood spilled over his fingers 

“Can't have you screaming and bringing attention, now can we?” Felwinter let out a long breath, “You’ll greet Astrid for me, won't you?” He smiled, “Of course you will.” 

He let go. He watched, unmoved, as Arnbjorn silently flailed on the way down until he smashed his head against a rise of stone. His body went limp and fell into the water, disappearing into the waves crashing against the mountain. 

Felwinter took a deep breath. Then another. And another. He focused solely on his breathing as he left the Blue Palace and walked towards Beirand’s home. Just like the Greybeards taught him.  _ “ _ Calm down,” he whispered to himself, “Calm. Down.” 

“Fel?” 

He froze. Moth’s voice snapped him out of his daze. He was in front of Proudspire. 

“Moth?” he murmured, “Where are the kids?” 

“They’re at Beirand’s.” He jabbed a thumb in the direction. His eyes flickered over Felwinter’s face. “What happened?” 

Fel shook his head, “Nothi-” 

“Do  _ not _ lie to me, Felwinter,” he cut off, “Your eyes. They’re doing that… _ thing _ again.” 

Felwinter let out another breath and started walking. Moth walked with him. He could smell the apprehension coming off the man. “Remember that assassin who kidnapped me?” 

“Yes?” 

Fel shrugged, “Her husband wanted revenge. For her and the other assassins I killed.” 

Moth lowered his voice even more, “Where is he?” 

“Few pieces of his skull are on the mountain below the Blue Palace. Rest of him is in the ocean.” 

“Should've known something was up,” Moth growled. 

“You had suspicions?” 

“A gut feeling.” The Orc shrugged his big shoulders, “Used to get them when I was assigned as a guard to my commander in the Imperial army.” He looked over Felwinter’s face. “Calm down, Felwinter.” 

The throbbing vein stretched, “I can't. The kids-”

“Are fine. You did well.” 

Felwinter tried to force his body to unclench. “They never should have been in this situation in the first place.” He ran a hand over his head, “I’ll need to take better precautions. Wards and the like.” 

“I agree. And…” Moth sighed, “I guess couldn't hurt to start teaching the kids to defend themselves. I can teach them to work with weapons and you…” Moth sighed again, with more resignation, “You can teach them magic.” 

“Really?!” Fel’s voice was louder than intended. His eyes brightened and the vein across his temple disappeared. Moth groaned. More mages in his home, setting his house, his clothes and his body on fire. 

“Wait, why can't I do both?” 

Moth grinned, “You've yet to beat me in a fair fight.” 

“I could if I was trying.” 

“I doubt that.” 

“We could…find out tonight.” Felwinter was was himself again. 

“You’re insufferable.”

“Is that a no?” 

“Is it ever a no?” 

“Hey!” A deep voice called out, stopping both of them in their tracks. Beirand’s head stuck out from behind his door, “You’re both late!” 

“Want me to accidentally fall through your roof again?” Felwinter shouted ahead. 

Moth frowned, “But…the last time wasn't an accident.” 

“They don't need to know that.” 

  
  
  



	8. Not a chapter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pics of the nerd himself
> 
> Shaved head: Post Helgen-Danwguard 
> 
> Mohawk: Dawnguard onwards

 

 

Stop being thirsty and keep scrolling

 

Part of the reason he will (spoiler) soon join the Imperials

Fel: "May the gods watch over your yada yada yada I'm the Jarl." 

 


	9. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a night to not remember

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbetaed so it's probably a mess. Have fun with it.

Felwinter rubbed the incoming sleep out of his eyes for the umpteenth time, “Get jobs for the other Companions, set up training for the new recruits…” he muttered.

The guard trailing him blinked behind his helmet, “Um, Harbinger?” He called again, wondering if he had been loud enough the first time, “Sir? Thane!”

Felwinter continued in his muttering and walking at a brisk pace, forcing the guard to jog in order to keep up, “Send a letter to Tolfdir that the disturbance was handled and that no, I did not actually need the Akatosh-damned Staff of Magnus-”

“Felwinter!”

He turned on him, “My gods, don't you people know when you're being ignored?!” He burst out before sighing.

“Very nice, Fel!” Adrianne called out from her post.

He shot her a menacing look before turning to the guard, taking in a deep breath. “Can I help you?” He asked through clenched teeth, leaning forward.

The guard took a hesitant step back, “With all due respect, Companion, you need to muzzle that dog of yours. It's driving everyone crazy.”

“Dog?” He blinked, “Right! Dog. It’ll be take care of.” Fel waved him away. The guard was all too happy to oblige.

Adrianne watched as he continued his warpath. “Felwinter.”

“What?”

“Have you slept?”

He waved her question off, “Too busy.”

She snorted, “That's never stopped you.”

“Yes, well…” he took a deep breath, “It does now.”

“Felwi-”

He cut her off, “It's nothing, Adrianne. It's just…things piling up.”

Adrianne gave a soft laugh, “If only Moth and the kids could see you know,” she said, “Shame you choose when they leave for Markarth to start being responsible.”

He smiled and spread his arms while walking away, “Make sure you vouch for me when I bring it up.”

“You have my word. Just…take a break at some point.”

He sighed, “I'll do what I can.”

* * *

 

“Farkas!” A damp ball of cloth smacked against the side of his head. The Nord out of his nap violently enough to topple him over with a bang.

Aela ignored the whole exchange from the other end of the table, focusing on the knife she was sharpening.

Felwinter squat down over Farkas’ head, “What'd I say about the howling?”

He blinked, “Uh…stop doing the-”

“Stop doing the howling, exactly.”

“Correct me if I'm wrong, Harbinger,” Aela started, finally paying them attention.

“Or you could be quiet and save us both the trouble.”

Aela raised an eyebrow and Felwinter shrugged, “Just a suggestion.”

“As I was saying,” she started again, going back to her knife, “There’ve been multiple beast sightings around Skyrim in the last few months. I guess it's only a coincidence it happened to be in places you were at the same time?”

Still on the ground, Farkas perked up, “Yeah! You’re a hypocrite!”

Felwinter’s gaze bored into him for an unsettling amount of time. “You’re lucky you’re not your brother,” he whispered before walking towards the Harbinger’s Quarters.

Aela watched him stomp past, “What crawled up your ass and died?” She stood and followed him

“I'm busy enough without all of you to make my job harder. Now, where are the list of jobs?”

She stood on her toes and looked over his shoulder, “Under your oversized hand.”

He lifted his hand and the paper fell from it. He groaned and rubbed his eyes.

The huntress’ eyes softened, “Felwinter…”

He cut her off. “If you’re about to tell me to take a break, I don't want to hear it.”

“So I'm not the first to bring this up then.” She turned and leaned against the table next to him, her arms crossed.

“No and you probably won't be the last, the way no one in this city could be paid to mind their own business.” He pushed her off the table to retrieve another stack.

“Oh I could be paid, Felwinter.”

He stared at her from the corner of his eye, “Tempting.”

She laughed and clapped him hard on the back, “Don’t overwork yourself.”

He grunted back.

* * *

 

He worked into the night; stacks of papers ranging from thank you letters to job requests to threats against his life.

“ _Lord Jacob of High Rock_ ,” he murmured as he wrote the letter, “ _I’d be honored to accept your challenge of a fight to the death but as I am currently locked into my duties here in Skyrim, I wish to send a champion in my place. Lady Delilah Talara Drakon gladly accepts your challenge of a magical duel. Simply bring it up ahead of time and she will begin when you do._ ”

He folded the letter, dropped it into the send pile and immediately started a new one.

“ _Dear mother. A Lord irrelevant plans to challenge you to a duel. Please don't kill him. Love, Felwinter.”_

_“P.S, In regards to your last letter, I wish to remind you that I am a bit too old for you to still be demanding to know whether or not I eat my vegetables everyday.”_

_“P.S.S, But yes I do. Moth sees to that.”_

“Your last name is Drakon?”

Felwinter practically flew out of his seat. “Mara’s ass, Aela, where do you get off scaring people like that?” He yelled, scrambling to right himself.

She waved her hand dismissively before looking him in the eye, “You missed dinner with the new recruits, Felwinter _Drakon_. The Harbinger is expected to be there.”

“Since when do I do what's expected of me?” He asked, “And I ate.” He pointed his pen at Farkas, fast asleep in a nearby chair.

The man had brought Felwinter a plate of food straight from the dinner table, only for him to take three bites and give the food over for Farkas to finish it before falling asleep in the nearest chair. How he fell asleep so easily with the beast blood running through his veins, Felwinter couldn't begin to guess.

“I'll give you that,” she said, moving out of his way when he stood and came out from his seat, “Where are you going?”

“To find a drink, since we’re out of the strong crap.”

“You finished it all, so thanks for that!”

The door slammed as a response.

* * *

 

“Hulda…more.” Felwinter’s head was on the bar. He heard her footsteps and the sound of a drink pouring. Still bent over the desk, he righted his head onto his chin, “What is it? Is it strong?”

“If you’re going to drink on a tab, you’re going to take it slow,” she said, pocketing the coin from someone else’s tab.

“Hulda, why do you hate me?” He groaned, adding a slight bit of sobbing for more effect

“Felwinter…”

“I'll pay twice the tab.”

“No you won't.”

“I…fine.” He downed the contents of his tankard and placed his head back flat. He ignored the sound of someone sitting down on the stool next to him. He continued to ignore the first few times the man tried to get his attention until he finally turned his head around with a wide eyed glare.

“Name’s Sam Guevenne.” The man raised a bottle to him with a victorious smile.

Felwinter looked him up and down, “Good for you,” he muttered, turning around again.

The Breton leaned in close, “And I know who you are, Felwinter.”

“Everyone knows who I am,” he snapped, “What's your point?”

Sam shrugged, “My point is…you look like you could use a little break.”

“I'm married.”

“Not what I meant.”

“Then be more specific.”

He ordered two more drinks. How he knew what he had been drinking, Felwinter couldn’t care less. “A little drinking game. I've got a nice prize in it for you if you manage to beat me.”

Fel looked at cups and back at the man. “How familiar are you with magic?”

Sam raised a hand and a spherical wisp of light casually flew around his fingers, “Pretty familiar.”

So magically cheating was out. The man looked tiny, so Felwinter took up the first cup and downed the liquid, “You’re on. Let’s get this over with.”

Sam smiled again, tapped his mug against Felwinter’s empty one and took the drink.

* * *

Felwinter blinked against burning light, raising a hand over his eyes. “Uh…gods above, my head.” He turned over, rose up to his hands and knees and fell over again, the world somehow shifting out from under him. Once the haze lifted, he became vaguely aware of someone kicking him.

“Wake up! Wake up I say!”

“I'm up. I'm up!” He attempted rising again, “I said I'm up!” He grabbed her foot mid kick, threatening to make her topple over.

The robed woman snatched her foot back in a huff. “Do you know what you've done?! Look at this place!” She wildly gestured around them.

Felwinter looked around and his surroundings came more into focus. “This isn't Kynareth’s Temple…”

“No!” She yelled at him, making his head sting, “It's Dibella’s Temple, you damned idiot! And you defiled it!”

“Dibella?” The stone surroundings became familiar. “No…” Felwinter started towards the exit, recognizing the doors, “No, no, no.”

He pushed through into the blinding, migraine inducing sun and ran towards the top of the steps. He swore profusely.

“Markarth!” He nearly yelled, “How the Void did I end up in Markarth?!”

“Hey!” He heard the priestess yell, “Get back here before I call the guards!”

Felwinter ignored her and looked out over the stone rise close to the temple’s entrance. There was Ghorza’s forge. And Ghorza. And Tacitus. And…”

“Moth! Fuck!” He squeaked, ducking under the rise before anyone could see him, chest heaving.

“There you are!” The priestess yelled from behind him, her clacking sandals getting louder.

“Quiet! Be quiet!” He whispered furiously, peeking over the rise again.

She gasped. “How dare…I am calling the guards. That'll teach you!” She took off down the hall, lifting her skirt ahead of her.

“Look…let's talk about this,” he pleaded, cutting off her warpath.

She shoved him out of the way, “There's nothing to talk about!”

“I apologize! And can pay for damages!” He put his hands together, “Please. Just…keep this quiet.”

She regarded him coldly. Then raised her hand expectantly. Felwinter searched for his coin purse, luckily and surprisingly still on him and dropped the entire bag into her palm.

“You were mumbling something about a man named Sam and Rorikstead,” she said, counting through the coins. She tied the bag close, “Don't know what it means and I don't care. Don't let this happen again.”

“Thank you,” Felwinter gasped, as she went out of sight, “Dibella bless you.” He ran back to the ledge. Moth was still there, engrossed in the conversation he was having with with his sister, unaware of Felwinter’s wide eyes stare from far away.

He ducked back under the rise when he thought Moth was about to turn around. “The house,” he huffed, “The portal!” He darted for the other side of the walkway, moved out into the light and flew back into the dark barely seconds before Lucia and Samuel excitedly ran by.

Only when he was sure that the coast was clear did he start quickly making his way through Markarth, attempting to remain hidden in broad daylight. Felwinter made his way around the stairs and up, getting to the door and slipping inside.

He closed Vlindrel Hall’s massive bronze door as quietly as he could, wincing when they still clanged loudly and echoed.

As slowly and quietly as his size could permit, Felwinter walked down the hall into the empty main living area of the manor, making for the portal near the fireplace. He placed his hand on the tile above it and willed a slight bit of magicka into it, lighting up a cascade of runes that willed the portal open.

“Um…Thane?”

Felwinter all but squeaked, whipping around with his arm raised up. Argis froze up, finding himself on the business end of a loaded lightning spell.

Argis slowly rose his hands. “Thane? It's me,” he said slowly, eyes locked on the spell.

Felwinter’s arm never dropped. But he smiled.

“Argis. Friend.”

“Thane, could you…put that away?”

Felwinter’s eyebrows raised, “Can you keep a secret?” He slowly dropped the spell, “You never saw me…understand?”

The Nord nodded hurriedly.

“If the Jarl asks?”

“I didn't see you.”

“If my kids ask?”

“I didn't see you.”

“If Moth asks?”

Argis gave him a sympathetic frown, “Thane, you know I can't lie to Moth.”

A trail of lightning coursed around Felwinter’s head and Argis practically jumped back, “No harm in trying.”

Felwinter patted him on his scarred cheek, “Good man! Bye!” He threw himself through the portal and closed it behind him.

* * *

 

“Lydia, what-settle down, it's just me. What happened last night?”

She hated that portal. She hated it with a burning passion. Then she remembered, “Where in Shor’s name have you been?!”

“Um…” Felwinter pulled the other leg into the house, “Out.”

“Out? Out?! Do you know how long you’ve been gone?”

He frowned, “It's only been a night. I disappear like this all the time.” He jogged up the stairs with her in tow.

“But not for a whole day!”

Felwinter almost tripped on the stairs. “What?”

“You've been since the night before last,” she said in disbelief, “You ran out with some Breton man-”

“Sam!” He exploded as he remembered the smiling face, “What the fuck?! Where is he?!”

“The man?”

“Yes, the man! The Breton!” He yelled. Then he sighed. This yelling wasn't helping his hangover. He sat down at the dining table with his head in his hands. “Look, Lydia. I need you to tell me. What happened when you last saw me?”

She sat right of him, “What do you remember?”

Felwinter shrugged, “I remember being challenged to a drinking contest by the man; Sam Guevenne,” he explained, “Couple of drinks in and the next thing I know, I’m waking up in fucking Markarth!”

“You and this…Sam; you both caused quite a ruckus in the inn,” she said, “Then from what I recall, you were both heading towards Rorikstead.”

“Rorikstead?” He nodded quickly, “Good. Time to get some answers. And maybe someone’s head while I'm at it.”

* * *

 

He found no answers. Instead Felwinter found himself trudging across the stone path towards Rorikstead, covered in mud, limping to keep the weight off his left leg. The goat in his arms bleated loudly.

He lifted the goat to face level, “I need you to stop doing that. Understood? Hey. Hey! Look at me,” he commanded, when the goat looked away, “I will _eat_ you. Understand? _Eat_.”

Ennis came running down the path to meet him, taking the goat from his arms, “And not a scratch on her!” The farmer looked down at Felwinter’s leg, “What happened to you?”

“ _Giants_ ,” Felwinter seethed, “Not _giant_ . _Giants_ . With _mammoths_.”

Ennis balked, “By the gods! How did you get away?”

“…There was nothing to get away from.”

He frowned in confusion, “But you said there were giants.”

“Yes.”

“And mammoths.”

“Yes.”

“So…” Ennis paused, slightly bothered by the look in Felwinter’s eye, “How did you fix the problem?”

“They stopped being a problem,” Felwinter’s pupils were slowly shrinking. He smiled, all teeth and no mirth, “Get it?”

Ennis clutched the goat tighter and took a step back, “I-I get it.”

“Now about my note?” asked Felwinter, still smiling.

“I…yes.” Ennis almost threw the goat back into the pen and pulled a piece of parchment from out of his clothing, “I could barely read it myself. Most of it is gibberish or covered in mead. There is something here.” The Redguard pointed to a specific section, “About repaying Ysolda and a marriage.”

“But I just came from…” Felwinter sighed, his dirt streaked face sagging, “Fine.”

“Will…you be alright?”

“Fine.,” Felwinter started to limp away, “Just fine.”

Ennis watched Felwinter go. Reldith came up behind him when the angry, hungover stranger had gotten far enough, “Who was he?”

He shrugged, “Some drunk, I don't know.”

“Doesn't he look like that guy everyone’s been talking about lately? The Dovah-something?” said Reldith.

“The Dovahkiin?” Ennis looked back at Felwinter’s retreating from and shook his head, “Nah, I don't see it. But he does look like that one Redguard who passed through here, going on about vampires. Is-something or other was his name.”

“Whoever he is, he looks like a giant sat on him.”

“Two and mammoths apparently. He smelled like it too. Ah well.” Ennis shrugged and started back towards the fields, “I doubt things could get worse for him.”

* * *

 

Felwinter leapt over the large boulder, landing hard behind it just as massive fireball splashed against the stone. “Can we talk about this?!” He yelled, over the edge, his ears still ringing from both the explosion and the last vestiges of his hangover.

The Hagraven probably did not hear him, screaming oaths and threats against him and this Esmerelda with the dark feathers he was apparently leaving her for. In one drunken day, he had stolen and sold a goat to a giant, convinced a Hagraven to not only refrain from killing on sight but marry him and wrapped it all up by defiled a temple on the other side of Skyrim from where he had started.

In the list of crap he’s pulled, this definitely makes the top fifteen.

All because of that bastard, Sam Guevenne. He better hope Felwinter never finds him.

“Where’s Sam?! Did he put you up to this?!” Moira screamed, knocking off a chunk of stone with lightning. It was by then Felwinter had figured she would not be running out of magicka anytime soon.

Covering himself in Ironflesh, Felwinter roared and charged. Moira put both her clawed hand together, letting out a gout of flame. He ran through, absorbing as much of the spell as he could.

Before the Hagraven could take measures to protect herself, Felwinter plunged the blade into the side of her neck, kicking her away when she attempted one last desperate attack to his face.

Felwinter grabbed the handle of his sword and ripped it out of her torso with a wet squelch, shaking blood and bits of creature’s organs off into the grass. After regarding the corpse for a few seconds, Felwinter pulled off the glove over his right hand and stretched his palm over Moira’s slack jawed face. He willed his magic into her corpse. It jerked suddenly and let out a long airless rasp.

Felwinter questioned the animated corpse, “Who officiated your wedding?”

“ _Saaaaannn,_ ”her rasping croak clawed around inside Fel’s head, “ _Saaaaaann_ -”

“Sam, alright, I get it. Where can I find him?”

“ _Moor…Mooorvunskaaa-”_ She was cut off as Felwinter released the spell and let her drop dead back into the dirt. He lifted her hand, locating the dirt covered gold ring and after a few attempts of trying to gently uncurl her long finger to pull it off, he resorted to snapping the thing off and forcing everything he had eaten recently to stay back down in his stomach.

* * *

 

Morvunskar was a dump, as expected. The type of dump that attracted bandits, rogue mages and Forsworn. The only reason Felwinter didn't burn it down along with whoever might have been inside was because doing so would rob him the opportunity of getting his hands on Sam.

Also, he wanted to see if Sam would tell him what in the gods’ names they drank that night. The trip from Whiterun to here had given him ample time to think of many, _many_ uses for it.

He hoped Guevenne resisted. Felwinter deserved to beat someone’s face in after all he had suffered. And who better?

He pushed the old wooden door open slightly, “Sam? Oh, Sam? Friend? Partner in crime? Come on out. I just want to talk for a little while,” he sang, ebony sword in one hand and a spell ready in the other, “Just a talk. I promise not to hurt-” An explosion from behind suddenly blasted it close, knocking Felwinter outside onto his back and snapping the last hair thread of his patience.

He jumped off of his back onto his feet and put all his anger into his voice, “ _FUS RO DAH!!!”_

The door shattered, revealing a Dunmer cloaked in mage robes sprawled on the ground. The elf attempted to stand up again before a large, serrated greatsword sliced off her head.

Only then did Felwinter notice the owner of the sword. A Dremora Lord, taller than most he had seen. The Daedra took one look at him and smirked a very familiar smirk before taking off further into the keep.

“Hey. Hey!” Felwinter called after it in vain. He ran inside and stopped by the mage’s headless corpse to inspect it. If she had summoned it, it would've been sent back to to Oblivion once it killed her.

Either more were involved in the summoning…

Or they didn't actually summon it. Either way, this wasn't his problem.

But if Sam was in there, Felwinter had to go after it before he got killed. If only just to watch the show

He ran after it, following the sounds of battle cries and death throes. He reached the fighting and ducked with a yelp, a spear of ice embedding itself in the wall behind him. The suddenness of the attack threw him off balance.

Before he could react, the Dremora appeared, grabbed him and hauled him up, “On your feet, Felwinter,” it said, voice familiar enough to set off all kinds of alarms in Fel’s head.

The Dremora charged back into the fray, cutting down assailants left and right. Despite everything, Fel found himself impressed. Spells that would have made even him flinch did nothing to hurt the Daedra. Mortal wounds barely slowed him down.

The Dremora Lord whooped when the last of them was cut down. When he turned his vicious grin to Felwinter, whose blade came up between them. The Daedra sighed, another very human expression.

“Felwinter-”

“How do you know my name?” Fel asked. The sword started to shake slightly; fatigue finally catching up to him, “Get out of my head, Daedra.”

The Dremora raised its hands defensively, “Settle down, I'm not in your head. We've met before. I've been wondering how long it would take for you to find me.”

Felwinter's face scrunched up, “Find you? I haven't even been looking for you! Why would I need to-” The dots started to connect in his head.

The Dremora smiled and gave a flourish of a bow, “Allow me to reintroduce myself. Prince Sanguine. Occasionally known as Sam Guevenne.”

“Sanguine…Sam Guevenne…Sanguine…”

“Yes, I'm sure you understand-” Sanguine suddenly dropped and ducked to the side. A ball of fire splashed against the wall behind him.

Felwinter conjured another one, “ _Do you have any idea, ANY IDEA what I have been through?!”_ He roared, throwing another one.

“Hey, do you know what I've been through?!” Sanguine yelled, avoiding another attack.

Felwinter wasn't hearing it, “I defiled a temple! I married a Hagraven!”

“And I've been locked out of my own realm!”

Fel froze, “Wait…what?”

Sanguine gestured around them, “This was the entrance I used to physically enter the world. Whatever you did,” he pointed to the wall, “Has locked me out!”

“How in the world did I lock a Daedric Prince out of his own realm?”

“Look at these weaklings!” He kicked one of the bodies, “It's obvious they didn't do it.” Then he sighed, “Not like it's permanent. But I've got other mortals in there and it will take time to reach them.”

Felwinter sighed. His blade shimmered out of sight as he sat in one of the old wooden chairs. “Why did you come for me?” He asked wearily.

Sanguine dropped heavily in the chair across from him, “You needed a break. The denizens of Oblivion have been watching you for a while, Felwinter. Peyrite, Hermaeus Mora, they’re thinking of the best way to use you to their own ends.”

“And you’re different?”

“I simply figured you could use a break. Didn't expect you to be such a horrible drunk.”

“You’ll find the staff in your bedroom,” Sanguine said, after a bit of silence, “Left it there before…” he waved his hand in the air, “everything.”

“Good.”

“As well as the recipe for my brand of liquor.”

“Get out of my head.”

Sanguine laughed this time and suddenly held a piece of paper out to him, “Your mother replied, by the way.”

“I don't remember sending that letter.” He took the parchment, “How did you get ahold of this?”

“I had one of my servants deliver it straight to her. It was in the middle of the night and she almost killed it.”

“Unless someone’s life is in danger,” Felwinter said, “You don't wake my mother up when she’s sleeping.”

“Noted.”

Felwinter opened the letter. It really was from his mother. She’s in good health. Lord Jacob had been run off.

And she knew he was lying about the vegetables.

He sighed and folded the letters. “Since I can't kill you, I guess I'll take my leave.” Felwinter stood and started to walk off, “You have fun getting back into your own realm.”

“Have fun explaining all this to your husband.”

Felwinter gave him one last dirty look before stomping away.

He got to the entrance, preparing himself for the long walk home. A cacophony of cries suddenly rang out and a group of mages flew past, running to help their already dead fellows and ignoring him entirely.

Felwinter gaped at their retreating backs before deciding, “Nah.”

Sanguine was right in a way. As was Aela. And Farkas. And Adrianne. He was overworking himself. Even past the amount that his usual laziness would warrant.

He’ll never do more than the bare minimum again.

* * *

 

_Legends say_ _Prince Sanguine is still fighting mages in Morvunskar_

_And by legends I mean a glitch. That asshole is still there_


	10. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Pair of Dragon Hunters

“Farkas!” Felwinter yelled, sending a spear of ice into the dragon’s leg to attract its attention. It worked. Too well for Felwinter’s liking. He barely managed a quick “ _FEIM”_ before the monster could cook him alive.

Farkas, too brave for his own good, had charged the dragon head on without any warning to Fel; with a battle cry loud enough to force the snow off the mountain and fearsome enough to send the snow running away if it could.

It took one hard swipe of the dragon’s tail to send Farkas head first into the hard stone of Ancient’s Ascent, knock him out cold and begin going in for the kill.

Felwinter swiped at its maw with his blade, drawing a dark red line across the side of its head. The dragon’s head jerked away and turned back, eyes wide and pupils shrunken almost to the point of disappearing.

It was a look Felwinter and any who crossed him knew well.

The dragon charged, bearing down on him. Felwinter launched himself as far into the air as he could, springing off the top of its jaw and landing on its head. The world spun and twisted as the enraged beast attempted to shake him off.

Felwinter suddenly remembered asking Moth if he wanted to ‘ride the dragon’. He almost had to sleep on the floor.

Before his hold could slip completely, Felwinter buried his sword deep into the side of the monster’s neck and held it there until its twitching started to slow down.

The wind suddenly started to pick up speed; this was his favorite part. Fel ripped the blade out of the dragon’s neck with a wet squelch as the dragon’s essence fused with the wind and coalesced around him.

Absorbing a dragon’s soul, asserting dominance over that which has never been or even conceived of being dominated gave him a rush of power and vigor like nothing ever has before or after. It was enough to make a man forget the world around him.

Including the Nord possibly bleeding out through his head.

“Fuck! Farkas!” The energy of the dragon’s soul visibly snapped away. Felwinter hopped off the dragon’s skull, now bared to the bone, and ran towards where he remember seeing Farkas fly to. The man was covered in a thin layer of snow. No blood behind or around his skull and his eyes were already fluttering beneath his eyelids

Felwinter cursed when the eyes suddenly flew open and Farkas shot up, reaching for his sword.

“Farkas, gods damn it! Calm down!” The simple order froze him in place.

“What happened?” he demanded in a frantic tone, brushing snow off of himself.

“I let the dragon eat you, fool. What do you think?” Felwinter waved a gold shining hand over his head, checking for any internal injuries.

He blinked, “I…it's over?” He asked, uncharacteristically soft.

“No thanks to you.” Felwinter held out his hand. Farkas stared at his hand for a long time before knocking it away and standing himself up.

“Farkas?” Felwinter called as he started down the mountain, “C’mon, I was just kidding!”

* * *

 

“Faaarkas. Faaarkaaas.”

Farkas ignored him, as he had for the last half hour, continuing his warpath towards Falkreath.

“Farkas!” Felwinter barked out like one of those tiny dogs the Breton nobility kept as pets, “Fffffffarkas!!! Guess what I sound like. Ffffffffarkas!!!”

A vein around the Nord’s neck pulsed.

Felwinter persisted, trying and failing to stop smiling, “C’mon. Are you really mad at me?”

“No, I'm humiliated!” He exploded, “My first fight against a dragon and I get knocked out like some kind of-”

“Idiot? Whelp?” Felwinter tried, “Ah, what's that word people use to refer to their idiot donkeys. A dumb ass?” Farkas growled at him and continued on his way faster, “Technically, this wasn't your first dragon fight. Whiterun gets occasionally attacked and-”

“Well, this was the first time I didn't have the guard and every Companion on my back!”

Felwinter stopped in front of him, cutting him off, “And…it's not that big of a deal.”

“It is to me.” Farkas shoved past him and continued towards the town. He had spent the entirety of the last few days preemptively boasting about their impending trip to take on one of the most, if not the most dangerous creatures crawling around Skyrim, making a show of it to the newest Companions, who looked at him with stars in their eyes. Why Farkas refused to just lie about it, Felwinter didn't know.

“You’re taking me on the next one,” Farkas suddenly barked, breaking the silence.

“According to who?”

“According to me!”

Felwinter let out a rude laugh, “I didn't realize you were Harbinger now!”

The fire left Farkas’ eyes in an instant, “Well, I…I mean…” he sighed in resignation, “Would you be willing to-”

“Risk my ass for your incessant and unnecessary need to prove something to a bunch of raw recruits who are still figuring out which end of the sword goes inside their attacker?” Fel shrugged, “Sure, why not? Done more for stupider reasons.”

“It's not…forget it.” Farkas continued on and Felwinter frowned at his retreating back. There was more to this whole thing than he was letting on.

“I will not ‘forget it’.” Felwinter said, falling in line by his side, “I'll just bring it up again when you’re drunk. Look.” He pointed to a trail of smoke rising above the trees, “We’re here.”

* * *

 

“Shor’s bones! A handsome man in Falkreath!” Was their greeting among entering Dead Man’s Drink. The sun was just starting to set but the inn was still relatively empty except for a few day drinkers.

Farkas made straight for the bar while Felwinter smiled brightly at the comment and took the server’s hand, “Narri, you spoil me with your praises. Do you realize that?” He kissed it softly.

She smiled back, “With all the titles you've amassed the past year, I'm surprised you still let us humble common folk speak to you.”

Felwinter feigned hurt, “Now, now, you know me better than that, Narri.”

She raised an eyebrow suggestively, “Will I…know you better by the end of tonight?”

“I didn't leave enough memories from the last time?”

“Not nearly.”

“Alright, that's enough,” Valga called from her spot behind the bar, “Can’t leave you two alone for a second.”

Felwinter sat down at the bar, “I’ll stop distracting her, I promise.”

“Mhmm. What will you have?”

“Just some mead. For me and my friend here.” He slung his arm over Farkas, who was head down on the bar, “And two rooms.”

Farkas remained prone over the bar until the sound of a mead bottle made him rise. He pulled the cork out with his teeth, drained it and went back to his original position.

Felwinter nursed his own, interacting with nearly everyone that walked by. Greeting guards, chatting with citizens and flirting with the server. Farkas turned his head over slightly and watched him, “You really are friendly with everyone, aren't you?”

Fel laughed, “You could say that.” He took a pull of his drink, “I stopped by here on my way back to Whiterun after we got back from Solitude. Ah…an event that occurred in Solitude convinced me paying the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary a little visit a while back. To do a little… _house cleaning_. Anyway, there was a freak accident while I was here that caused a fire. Helped the guards put it out.”

Farkas rose up, resting his arm on the bar, “Freak accident?”

“Yeah, that's right.”

“Just like Heimskr’s house was a freak accident, right?

The bottle paused halfway to Felwinter’s mouth, a small quirk in his lips, “No, nothing like that. This fire hasn't happened multiple times and the owner of this building didn't refer to my husband as a filthy Mer.” He paused, “Not that I have anything to do with it.”

Despite his shit mood, Farkas let out a small laugh. Then the smile slowly disappeared, “Must be nice. Good for you, Fel.”

Felwinter put the his bottle down, “Now that pleasantries are out of the way, talk to me Farkas. What's wrong?”

He glared at the bar for a few minutes before he spoke, “Never really knew what that was like, you know. Being admired.”

Felwinter frowned in disbelief, “Plenty of people like you. I like you. Moth likes you. My kids love you.”

“You do?”

Felwinter leaned closer, “I let you call me Fel, don't I?

“I guess,” he admitted, “But I used to admired. One of the strongest fighters in the Companions. Then-”

“Then I showed up.”

“Slaying a dragon like it was nothing,” he grumbled, his gruff voice laced with bitterness. Felwinter got the bartender’s attention and spun his finger around, signaling her to keep the drinks coming.

“Now everyone wants to be around the great Dragonborn,” he continued after finishing off the second bottle in one go.

“Come on, Farkas,” Felwinter said with a bright smile, “You can't believe that.”

“Aela respects you. Vilkas listens to you,” he continued in his grumbling, “Even Kodlak liked you better. Didn’t even consider me for Harbinger.”

Felwinter’s smile disappeared. Kodlak was…a sensitive topic. It was hard to forget the Silver Hand’s blatant attack on the city of Whiterun that day. Harder to forget what…or who had caused it. It took all of Felwinter’s effort to keep Baalgruuf from marching a contingent of soldiers into Winterhold, on account of the civil war and the fact that all of eastern Skyrim was Stormcloak territory.

Instead, just Felwinter and Vilkas were sent into the Silver Hand’s refuge. Not a single person survived crossing them.

“You’re wrong about people not wanting anything to do with you anymore,” Felwinter pointed out, “I get plenty of job offers requesting you! By name! You’re more popular than you think.”

Farkas was unimpressed. “Vilkas lets me see the papers sometimes,” he snapped, “You’re the only one ever requested by name.”

Fel groaned, “What do you want me to do here, Farkas?” He pleaded.

“You can stop lying to me,” Farkas snapped back, “For once.”

“Tall order.”

“Then there's nothing you can do.” Farkas said, rising off the stool, “I’m going to bed.”

Felwinter's hand shot up to his shoulder and Farkas was forcible sat back down. He had a serious and oddly sad look to him as he stared down at the bar. After a half minute of silence, Felwinter said, “You’re right, Farkas. You’re right.”

The Nord’s frown deepened.

Felwinter continued, “But certain missions, I assign you because of how effective you are at them. Sure you’ll take on any idiot fool enough to challenge you.” He nudged Farkas with his elbow, earning a meek smile from the big man, “But when someone needs rescuing, when someone’s safety is in danger, Farkas, you become a whole different person. That different person is the only man I really trust for the job.”

Felwinter leaned closer, “You don't need a bunch of fame seekers on your ass all day. You're a good man, Farkas. With a good heart. And that's more than I can say for anyone else. You understand me?”

Farkas eyes searched over his face, searching for any evidence of a lie and to his surprise, finding none. He swallowed and nodded slowly, “Alright. Yeah. I understand you.”

“Don't worry about having everyone’s attention or being Harbinger,” Felwinter murmured, taking a sip of his drink, “Let me bear that burden. Do something right for once in my life.”

Farkas frowned again and Felwinter suddenly shot up off the stool before he could speak, “Well, I've got letters to write.”

“More death threats?”

“Same old. If a Dunmer in weird bone armor comes up to you asking for me, you've never heard of me.”

Farkas started to stand as well, “I think I'm gonna turn in too.”

Felwinter pushed him back down for the second time, “Not yet. I think you’ll be occupied tonight,” he said, watching Narri’s eyes rove over Farkas’ back with slightly upturned lips.

“I…I will?”

“Just don't piss on her, alright? I know how you dogs get.”

“Wait, don't piss on who?! Felwinter!” Fel ignored him, making for the stairs.

“Be gentle with him,” Felwinter pleaded, taking a beer off the tray as she passed, “For my sake.”

“Hmph,” she sniffed, “And what makes you think I have any interest in him?”

“Because you have good taste, Narri.”

She hummed with amusement, “Good point.”

“They’re the only points I have,” he said.

She slapped his arm and laughed, “Heading to bed?”

“Letters to write. That's what I get for being important.

She laughed again, “Try to get some rest, dear.”

“Yes, mother!” He called as he jogged up the stairs. Near the entrance, a crowd was gathering around Falkreath’s bard, who was tuning his lute. “This song goes out to the savior of Skyrim. The Dragonborn.”

Felwinter froze at the top of the stairs. Multiple patrons cheered.

The Breton bard had barely managed the first word before he was stopped by Felwinter’s sudden appearance. Several patrons stepped back, equally shocked into silence at how the man had just appeared out of thin air.

The only sound that could be heard was Farkas’ voicing his irritation from the bar.

Felwinter loomed over the tiny Breton with a wide eyed glare. He opened his coat and silently counted out a purse full of coins before tying it up and tucking it into the shorter man’s vest, “I will _pay_ you to never _ever_ sing that song in my presence again.”

The bard shakily pulled out the bag, “I’m sorry sir but the patrons-” he took a second to weigh the bag in his hand. Then he opened it slightly and peeked inside. He looked from the bag, to Felwinter and back. Then the Breton tucked the money back into his coat and strummed his lute to a completely different tune, “ _Oooh, there once was a hero named Ragnar the Red who came riding to Whiterun from old Rorikstead…_ ”

Felwinter gave Farkas a bright smile as he made his way back to the stairs. The Nord shook his head but smiled back when a soft delicate hand suddenly ran across his shoulder.

* * *

 

Farkas was in an exponentially better mood than he was the night before. He smiled warmly, bid nearly everyone who passed him by a good morning and even stopped to clap a young boy on the shoulder who had been staring up at him, mesmerized by the big man with the big sword. Felwinter was glad for it but he couldn't say the same and he knew why.

He could _hear_ why. He couldn't focus on the letters or sleep _because_ of why.

Felwinter paid their tab, adding extra for the possibility for any noise complaints suffered and how to contact him, should the bed frame need…replacing. He shuddered at the mental image. The next time he put Farkas in a room with anyone, he was sleeping outside in the grass.

“Fel?” Farkas started, “Can I ask about last night?”

“No, I didn't sleep,” he snapped, “Apparently you didn't either.”

Red crawled up his neck. “I…not that. Sorry,” he apologized.

But Felwinter smiled, “Don’t be. Glad you had fun.”

“But what I meant was…you called being Harbinger a punishment.”

Felwinter didn't respond. So Farkas continued, “Being Harbinger is a great honor. I’ve been thinking about it all night and don't understand what you meant.”

“You think about me at night? While you had a beautiful woman in your lap? Farkas, I'm flattered.”

“Fel…”

So much for diverting. Felwinter sighed, “I’m not a selfless man. Almost completely the opposite. I've been told I have my good moments. My altruistic moments,” he said, “But at the end of it all, my only concern is my family and a few friends and I see no point in acting differently.”

Felwinter stopped walking, staring up at the cloudy sky, “Kodlak was…he was quickly becoming one of those people.”

“I remember. You both got so close so quickly.”

“Then I got him killed,” Felwinter was scowling now, “The first man in my life to ever attempt to be a father to me and I got him killed.”

Farkas’ said nothing. No outright agreement but no denial either.

“It's the least I could do, isn't it?” He asked probably more to himself, “Honor his memory. Not let the Companions go to shit because of my stupidity.”

The only sounds after that were their heavy footsteps, squelching in the

“You know…” he started, breaking the tense silence, “No one blames you for what happened.”

“Yeah, well,” Felwinter’s voice dropped down to a whisper, a far cry from the Dragonborn’s usual loud, almost brash confidence, “I blame me.”

“Do you know what I think?”

Fel eyes scrunched in confusion, “…No?”

“I think…that you do enough,” he said, “I think you don't really owe Kodlak anything, aside from respect. I think you could easily hand over the job to someone you feel would be more deserving. And…”

Farkas suddenly stopped walking. When Felwinter turned around, his eyes were boring into him

“And I think you know that.”

Damn him and his sudden bursts of insight. He was right, of course. Felwinter knew there was nothing keeping him as Harbinger. His lack of an adequate response and the stretching silence only served to further prove it.

A massive shadow suddenly flew over their heads, drawing their eyes skyward. The familiar roar of a dragon accompanied it and Felwinter thanked the gods for tiny miracles.

Tiny, angry miracles that were actually the size of buildings and was making for the extremely flammable town of Falkreath. By the time Felwinter had turned around, Farkas had already drawn his sword and taken off in a hard sprint down the path. Fel sighed and resigned himself to a jog.

* * *

 

Farkas got his story at the end of the day. The entirety of Jorrvaskr were on the edge of their seats, hanging on every word coming out of the Nord’s mouth. He didn’t need to lie. Felwinter only brought it down and helped from a distance, letting Farkas do most of the work and land the killing blow. By the end of it, Farkas had a gaggle of recruits begging for even the tiniest bit of his time tomorrow. Aela was impressed. Vilkas was bitter. Felwinter was enjoying that Vilkas was bitter.

Felwinter left before the end of the story, taking a slow stroll home, greeting every citizen and guard he met.

The kids were asleep, as it was pretty late in the night. Fel silenced his own steps to keep it that way. The lights were off in his bedroom and large hump rose under the the bed. Felwinter smiled fondly, crawling onto the bed and draping himself over Moth

“Fel?” He murmured in what could almost be called a purr, “You back?”

Felwinter’s fingers ran through his loose hair, “Yeah,” was all he said.

“How was it?”

“Boring. Wasn’t enough things on fire. Compared to when it actually happened.”

Moth laughed.

Felwinter lifted himself off the bed, pulled the shirt over his head and his boots off; changing into a more comfortable pair of pants. He sat on the edge of the bed and turned to see if Moth was still facing the other way before reaching into his drawer.

He pulled out an old, worn leather bound journal.

Kodlak’s.

_I have received few dreams over the course of my life, but when they come, I have learned to trust them. I have also learned to trust the instincts of my heart, which tells me that Felwinter Drakon can carry the Companions’ legacy as truly as any residing in Jorrvaskr, especially with the loss of Skjor. Aela is too solitary, Vilkas too fiery, and Farkas too kind-hearted. Only Felwinter stands as a true warrior who can keep a still mind amidst these burning hearts._   
_  
_ I will not speak to him of any of this, though. It is too much to burden another with. My hope is that he and I can keep counsel over the coming years, that I can impart the wisdom of the Harbingers. All things in time.

Fel scoffed quietly as his eyes roved over and Kodlak’s final entry, “All things in time,” he murmured in a whisper, “I’m not the man you think I am. What were you thinking, old man?”

Fel closed the journal and silently put it back. He took a thumb to his eyes, wiping away a drop of water threatening to fall. He leaned his head back when his vision began to blur. A traitorous drop fell anyway.

“What were you _thinking_?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Only Felwinter stands as a true warrior who can keep a still mind amidst these burning hearts.” 
> 
> I love foreshadowing. Don't you? ;)


	11. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on a joke I made to myself

 

“And what is that supposed to mean?!” Erikur demanded, making Bryling flinch at his volume in her ear.

Falk was no less angry or loud, “It means that my main concern is helping Jarl Elisif win the war! Not increasing your profits!”

They had been going back and forth for the last fifteen minutes, much to everyone's irritation. Even Sybille, who usually found their chest beating amusing, was quickly getting tired of it.

Bolgeir moved behind Elisif’s throne and bent over into her ear, “Shall I silence them, my Jarl?”

“No, Bolgeir, remember what we discussed? About threatening court attendants?” She admonished, “Besides, I feel it's good to let them debate and get their frustrations out every once in awhile.”

“In front of guests, my lady?”

“Guests?” She looked towards the top of the stairs and sighed. There stood Felwinter and a blonde, one eyed Nord man she didn't recognize, enamored by the proceedings. Felwinter was picking nuts out of the handful in his palm, never taking his eyes off of the arguing men.

“Go ahead.”

His response was immediate, “ _SILENCE!!!”_

Felwinter jumped, squeezing the food in his hand to keep it from spilling all over the palace floors.

“Thane Felwinter Drakon,” Elisif greeted frostily. The Dragonborn, either not detecting her tone or simply not caring, bowed with a flourish of his hands, mouth full and an amused look on his face that implied the latter. The Nord’s bow was short and jerky. “Most people announce themselves when they enter my palace.”

“Yes, your majesty. Apologies, your majesty. My housecarl, Argis here, and I had a bet whether Ericka here-”

“Erikur!!!” He yelled out.

“Lief Erickson here and Falk Firechest- I mean, beard would come to blows and I just lost so-”

Elisif stood, “All well and good Felwinter but I summoned you here for a certain reason. Might we speak in private?”

He dumped the rest of the nuts into his mouth and dusted off his hands. Then he fished a small bag of coins out of his pocket and tossed it over his shoulder, with a command to wait downstairs. Argis easily snatched it out of the air and bowed to Elisif once more before going downward.

She led him to her quarters, her housecarl closing the door behind them after being commanded to let no one enter.

“Thank you for meeting me so quickly, Felwinter. I'm surprised actually,” she said, after taking a seat at the center table, “I assumed you had been in Whiterun and that it would take sometime for the letter to reach there.”

“Met your courier in Markarth actually.”

“Markarth? You’re family is there now?”

“No, I actually had some business there. This issue with Markarth’s catacom-er, actually, its best I don't get into it. The whole situation was uh…disgusting,” he said, “Had to keep my presence quiet though. The Jarl and I aren't on the friendliest terms.”

“Is that true?” She asked, ignoring his movement away from his original point, “If I remember correctly, your actions put him on the throne.”

“I honestly think it's more of fear.” Felwinter scratched his beard, “I’m neutral now but I'm not a Nord and I have no love for the Stormcloaks.”

“So the tiniest push in the Empire’s direction could possibly cost him the position.”

“Exactly right.”

“Well, what I called you for actually has something to do with this war,” she said, clasping her hands together tightly in her lap, “It's…about my husband. High King Torygg.”

Elisif reached under the table and retrieved what seemed to be an old pale Nordic war horn. She ran a hand over the old thing, a strange and sad look on her face.

She ran a small hand over it, “This…belonged to my husband,” she said, more to herself than Felwinter. She looked up from it to him, “There is a shrine in Whiterun Hold. A…” she hesitated, eyes shifting around the room, “A Talos shrine.” She pushed the horn towards him, “I cannot take it there of course and no one directly affiliated with the Empire can be seen taking it there so…”

“So that leaves me.” Felwinter leaned back in his seat, “Your husband worshipped Talos?”

She remained silent. “Right,” Felwinter said, backtracking, “Forget I asked.”

“He wasn't the Empire’s puppet, like everyone claims,” she suddenly said, “He just…he knew if Skyrim were to secede, we wouldn't be able to hold against the Aldmeri Dominion. His religious beliefs had little to do with his stance.”

He nodded, “I understand, ma'am,” he said, taking on a more respectful and somber tone.

She looked up at him again, “And you? How do you feel about Talos?”

“Not a believer personally. But I do think if the Nords want to worship him, they should be able to. Ulfric and I agree on that much.”

“If you believe as much, why not join the Stormcloaks?” She asked. A simply inquiry; no hint of accusation in her voice.

Felwinter laughed, “My Jarl, I am a Redguard-Breton mage with an Orsimer husband and two Imperial children,” he told her, “There's no room in Ulfric’s Skyrim for me. One trip around Ulfric’s city told me that much. And even if I was to join him and help him, I'd just be given special privileges while everyone else is mistreated. That doesn't appeal to me in the slightest.”

“If Ulfric wins, Felwinter, that may become your reality.”

“Tullius seems to be holding his own,” Felwinter said, pointed leaving out the general’s title, “If he starts to falter, then I'll have to step in and finish the war for him. But for now, I’d like to see how things go.” He stood, “Also I’m not the most eager to work for the man who almost had me wrongly executed.”

She winced slightly, “Right. You met Tullius in Helgen.”

“That I did.” Felwinter quipped, standing up, stretching and pointedly ending the topic, “Now, does anyone know about the war horn? Could it be recognized?”

Elisif shook her head.

He picked up the horn and tucked it away, “Then we shouldn't have any problems on the road.” He bowed low, “Argis and I will take our leave.”

“Yes.” She remained sitting, “And Felwinter?”

He stopped at the door.

“Thank you.”

He bowed once more, with a warm smile and took his leave, leaving her a few minutes in the large room to recompose herself before rejoining her court.

* * *

 

“So about Solitude, you were right!” Argis called upward once he had made sure his footing on the rock face was secure.

Felwinter had remembered the problem of a dragon perched on one of the mountains of Hjaalmarch and how the Jarl had asked him to handle it sometime ago.

So here they were, traveling to the top of a mountain, scaling the side in full heavy plate armor because Felwinter couldn't find the path leading up.

Either that or he was lying and just wanted an excuse to scale a mountain.

Felwinter reached for the next ledge and hauled himself up, “See, I told you,” he said, looking below him, “They’re always arguing!”

“Is it about politics? I don't understand politics.”

“Nobody does, Argis,” Felwinter assured, “Just yell a lot, throw things and get occasionally challenged to a duel so you can send your mother after them.”

“What if your mother sends the death threat?”

“Then things get confusing,” he answered without skipping a beat.

“…I was joking.”

“I'm not.”

Argis reached for the next ledge and groaned when his fingers dipped in something wet and slimy. He looked below them only to see that they were barely up the mountain. Felwinter didn't look tired in the slightest. The Nord sighed and pushed himself to keep up.

“And that Falk Firebeard-”

“No, I don't know if it goes all the way down.” Felwinter’s foot knocked loose some pebbles into Argis’ face.

“Not that! Wait, really? You haven't tried?”

“Hey! I don't sleep with everyone! I'm married!”

“Oh, please.”

“I don't! Woah…” Felwinter’s nearly grip slipped off, “Sorry,” he called, “Bird shit everywhere.”

The Nord grimaced again, “I've noticed. What I wanted to ask was if Falk had any sisters?”

Fel’s head swiveled around, “Uh…why?!”

“It's not like that! Gods, man, why is everything about sex with you?”

“Sometimes it's about sex with other people.”

“Thane?!”

“Sometimes multiple people at once!”

“Thane!”

“What?!”

A black shadow suddenly flew over their heads and Felwinter disappeared. The dragon they had been searching for had an object in its claw which it promptly released, letting it fall the far distance to the hard ground in a cloud of dust.

“Thane!!!” Argis screamed, forgetting himself and nearly releasing his hold on the mountain side. Keeping one armored hand digging into the stone, Argis slid down, kicking up plumes of dust, snow and stone in his wake. A projection in the stone mountainside threw him off balance, causing him to fall the rest of the way to the ground.

The ground shook as the dragon landed at the peak of the mountain and roared.

Argis got to his feet, armor seeming twice as heavy now, and his eyes landed immediately on Felwinter’s body.

He was still on the ground. He wasn't moving. He wasn't fucking moving.

Argis broke into a sprint and came sliding to his knees next to Felwinter’s body, “Thane?!” He cried, ignoring the dragon, “Come on, wake-”

Felwinter shot up, smashing head first into Argis’, who reeled back, hand flying to his nose. Fel rubbed his forehead, “Argh, what hit me?” The dragon roared again, earning his attention.

Argis remained kneeling on the ground, hand over nose; dark blood seeping through the fingers. He removed his hand and shook the excess droplets into the grass, “Urgh, how are you still alive?” he asked as Felwinter practically sprang to his feet, “How are you even still conscious?”

Still staring down the dragon, Felwinter shrugged, “Ethereal Shout. You know the one.”

Argis huffed, resorting to breathing through his mouth. “Explains how you get down from mountains so quickly.”

“The Greybeards hate me.”

The strange tattoos on Felwinter’s arm suddenly flashed blue, shining through his armor. A long, jagged black/red sword suddenly manifested in his hand.

Without looking back, Fel’s raised his empty hand and with an accompanying flash of magic, Argis’ nose spontaneously and violently snapped back into its original place. Snorting the last of the blood from his recently reset nose, Argis wearily unstrapped the shield from his back and drew his blade, Nordic steel glittering in the waning sunlight.

The dragon drew up to its full height and launched itself into the air, the familiar word for frost already leaving its maw. Echoing words and an explosion of blue brought it back down.

* * *

 

“That was a kind thing you did, my Thane,” Argis spoke up once they had left Rorikstead.

“What? Fixing your nose? Breaking it in the first place?”

Argis’ heavily bandaged nose throbbed at the mention. Felwinter had only gotten rid of most of the excess blood and prevented any permanent disfigurement. “For the Jarl,” he said, his voice nasal and his tone losing nearly all seriousness.

“Oh. I have my moments,” Fel said, kicking a rock out of his way, “That Thalmor agent ruined the mood though. Lorentus? Livius?”

“…I’ll be honest, I wasn't listening.”

“I cut off his head before he could finish anyway.”

The horn had been delivered and a message had been drafted for Elisif saying so, to be sent once they reached Whiterun. The only thing Argis cared about was the bath he was going to fall asleep in when he got back to Markarth through the portal. Especially since Felwinter had promised to draw it as an apology for shattering his nose.

Argis belated realized that when Felwinter said he'd draw the bath that there was good chance he’d just find a badly drawn picture of a steaming bath in the tub. He also realized that he’d probably make Lucia or Samuel draw the picture because he couldn't even be bothered to do that much.

“Hey, Argis. Before that dragon-’

“Snuck up on you?” he offered, with a slight bit of acid.

“Yes, shut up, what exactly were we arguing about?”

“We weren’t arguing, Thane.”

“Nonsense, we’re always arguing."

True but not in this case, “I was asking whether or not Falk has any sisters,” he reminded, “I was wondering if there was any women with the last name Firebeard walking around.”

Felwinter stopped. Then he let out a loud guffawing laugh, “Arkay’s balls, can you imagine anything worse than that?!”

“Firechest?”

“That's what Moth and I call him at home.” Felwinter started to calm down, “Slipped out on accident.”

Argis didn't believe him for a second, “It slipped out just like with that Erikur man?”

“Who?”

“Erik-By the gods, Lief Erickson or whatever you call him!”

Felwinter laughed again. The city was in sight; Dragonsreach as imposing as always. It was always a welcome sight after a hard journey. Fel was already smiling at the thought of his children tackling him into a hug, as they did every single time. It was a nice thing, to be looked forward to.

Argis called him, “Thane?”

“Mm?”

“You said you couldn't think of anything worse than a woman named Firebeard.”

“Yeah?” Felwinter opened his waterskin and started to drink.

“Falk Firebush.”

Felwinter choked on his drink and tripped over a boulder, letting himself fall into the dirt, raucous laughter overcoming him entirely.

  
  
  
  



	12. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bit of an interlude chapter as this marks the halfway point

 

“ _LOK VAH KOOR!!!”_

The blizzard died down once again, revealing a much longer path left than Felwinter thought he had. He groaned, ripped his foot out of a particularly deep spot of snow, pulled the hood of his cloak further down and continued on up the mountain.

“ _Baaaaah!!!”_

Felwinter flinched at the sudden noise thrown into his ear, “For the last time, I said shut up!” With every step onwards, Felwinter was regretting not killing the thing. But it was harder to sneak a dead goat past the temple than a live one.

Plus the smell.

After what seemed like hours but was actually minutes of uphill climbing, the ice on the wind started to feel softer and the snow under his feet was frozen. He was here.

Felwinter frowned, “Oddly quiet-” The ground shook violently. Felwinter turned only to come face to face with the giant pale green maw of a massive dragon. The beast leaned closer, hot breath ruffling Felwinter’s hair. Any other time would have had him throwing the goat as a distraction then running for cover. Not this time.

“Paarthurnax!” Felwinter practically beamed as the old dragon shook the snow off its body and leaned closer, “Drem yol lok, Dovahkiin. Greetings!”

“It’s good to- ow, fuck!” A good suddenly smashed into his chest as the terrified goat kicked its way out of Felwinter’s arms. The animal hit the ground running, making it only a couple of feet away before being blasted with lightning.

Palm smoking, Felwinter rubbed his chest with the other hand and glowered. “I hate goats.”

“I don’t eat, Dovahkiin,” Paarthurnax rumbled, “Is this for Odahviing?”

Felwinter snorted, drawing a knife, “No. This is for me.” In a few strikes, Felwinter managed to hack off one of the hind legs, silently lamenting the mess on his shirt, “Where is Odahviing anyway?”

A second, earthshaking impact originating came from behind him. Without looking back, Felwinter picked up the severed leg and tossed it over his shoulder, smiling when he heard the sound of a jaw snap close.

* * *

“I see your civil war is still going on,” Paarthurnax rumbled, reclining on the icy ground. Felwinter was opposite of him, a fire set up and the goat cooking on a skewer.

“So can I, what’s your point?” Felwinter snarked back, mouth full.

“You do not plan on stepping in?”

“It’s none of my business.” Felwinter cut off another piece and tossed it behind him at Odahviing, “As long as they leave me and mine alone, they can kill each other for all I care.”

The old dragon hummed and turned towards the sky, “You do not feel strongly either way?”

“No, I do not.”

“If I recall correctly,” Odahviing interjected from behind them, “You rescued one of the belligerents in the war. A Stormcloak soldier, I believe they call themselves.”

“That’s because the only thing I dislike more than either side of the war are the Thalmor.”

“And a weakness for kind older humans.”

Felwinter paused mid chew before nodding, “Yeah, I’ll admit that.”

Paarthurnax let out a deep laugh. For a second, Felwinter worried for the snow above their heads. This had become a bit of a tradition for them, Felwinter’s visit; and with each one, the old dragon seemed a touch less reclusive and more lively. Being around other dragons who were not actually trying to kill him was doing Paarthurnax good.

“The Blades, Dovahkiin. What have you heard?”

Felwinter waved the question off, “Absolutely nothing. Haven’t seen Delphine and Esbern since the truce meeting.”

“And yet their numbers grow.” Paarthurnax leaned closer, Fel’s reflection in his glittering eye, “Do they know that it is your doing?”

“There was this one kid. Erik from a town called Rorikstead,” Felwinter started, pulling out from his bag a bottle of mead, “Said he wanted to be a mercenary but his father wasn’t sure. Convinced his father to let the boy live his own life and told Erik that he’d be trained by the best of the best. So I gave him directions to Sky Haven Temple and left him with a note for Delphine.”

“You disobeyed the Blades, Dovahkiin,” Odahviing said, “Why are you helping them?”

“You know me well enough by now that I benefit in a way. Trained dragonslayers patrolling Skyrim? They’re making my job easier.”

“You've sent others?”

“Just Erik. I’ll leave them to recruit more.” Felwinter chucked the empty bottle over the side of the mountain.

“Your actions never cease to confuse me, Dovahkiin.”

“I aim to confound.”

“Something you manage continuously, Dovahkiin.” With a great heave, Paarthurnax lifted himself into the air, landing on the stone Word Wall at the edge of the mountain, “ _Dov wahlaan fah rel_ ,” he said, “Do you remember what this means?”

Felwinter lowered the food from his mouth, “Dragons were made to dominate, if I recall correctly.”

“Wingless. Mortal. It does not matter,” the old dragon continued, “The Dovahkiin is a dovah. And dovah were made to dominate.”

“Are you going somewhere with this?”

“Miraak. Reman Cyrodiil. Tiber Septim. All Dovahkiin. All dominators. Now the wheel has turned to you and despite domination being your base nature, you defy it with an ease I envy.”

Fel jerked his head towards Odahviing, staring at the sky from the back, “I beat Odahviing in a fight, does that count?”

“You didn’t beat me, Dovahkiin, you tricked me.”

“Potato, po-trickery, does it matter? You still ended up in chains.”

“With your fellow mortals prodding me for scales and blood!”

“He wants more by the way.”

Odahviing snarled at that. Felwinter smiled back.

“Then perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps you have managed to convert your baser nature to your whim.” Paarthurnax shook his mighty shoulders, “Archmage of Winterhold. Harbinger of the Companions. You have even managed to make the Blades indebted to you. Where others dominate through the most violent means, Dovahkiin, you find a way. Loyalty instead of obedience. Maybe it is that kind heart of yours. I am not the first to see it.”

Felwinter frowned and looked away, “You’re talking about Kodlak.”

“And Moth. And Farkas. And Savos Aren. And Balgruuf the Greater. All see a greatness in you that is truly just who you are as Dovahkiin and who you are as a mortal. I see great changes coming to Taazokaan, Tamriel, Dovahkiin. And I see you front and center.”

Suddenly, Felwinter was a child again, being scolded by his mother for succumbing to the harsh words of his peers and letting them get to him. _“You can be great. No matter who you are or what they say.”_

Head down on the chopping block, watching Alduin raze a small town; he wasn’t thinking about being great. Not even after he had saved the world not once but twice. None of this was planned.

Mother was right. No matter how fantastic and ridiculous the situation was, she always managed to be.

“You should come meet my family sometime, Paarthurnax.” Felwinter got to his feet, packing his things, “Moth. Sam and Lucia. Maybe even my mother. You two would get along well seeing as you both love to turn conversations into lectures.”

The old dragon’s eyes followed him, “I do not leave the mountain, Dovahkiin. You know this.”

“Bah! I’m sure we could sneak you down!” Felwinter said, “I snuck a goat up here. I can sneak a dragon down.”

At that, the old dragon laughed. Loud, vibrant and youthful. “I believe you and I look forward to what you will come up with. Su’um ahrk morah, Dovahkiin. And return soon. I enjoy our talks.”

Odahviing landed hard behind Felwinter, lowering down, “Are you ready, Dovahkiin? I can take you down.”

Felwinter gave one last nod to Paarthurnax before climbing onto the red dragon’s neck, positioning himself as to avoid being impaled, neutered or both. With a mighty beat of his wings, Odahviing took off into the sky, making one trip around the Throat of the World before beginning his descent.

Felwinter turned in his spot, staring at Paarthurnax until the old dragon was eventually obscured by clouds and ice on the wind. And even then, he continued looking back, thinking.

It was why when the world suddenly spun upside down and he found himself face down in the snow, it took more than a few seconds to comprehend what had happened.

“Odahviing?” He drawled, still dizzy, “Odahviing, what the fuck?!”

The red dragon perched on the side of the mountain, “Beaten me in a fight, have you?”

“Oh for...are you still on that?!”

“You are nowhere near strong enough to beat me!”

Felwinter’s face contorted in surprise, “Well, see...you say that and then next thing you know, I’m ripping your soul from your body like an old bandage!”

Where Felwinter expected a challenging roar for his insult, he instead got a guffawing laugh. “Such talk! Maybe one day, you’ll actually stand a chance!”

Fel sighed, “Sure. Whatever you say. Now take me down!”

Odahviing turned away, “I would rather not, Dovahkiin. It seems you have other problems.”

Then, Felwinter heard it. An echoing throaty roar and the sound of massive fists slamming the ground. Snow whipped up around him as Odahviing took flight. “Good luck, Dovahkiin.”

“Wait! Odahviing!” Felwinter ran after the dragon, stopping before he could walk over the edge, “Bastard!” The frost troll roared again. “Oh, shut up!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short but like I said, it's just an interlude. I’m excited to start writing the next half of ADL and the next book


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "No One Escapes Cidhna Mine"

 

“Ha! Everyone! Moth has graced us with his presence!” Loud cheers of greeting echoed around the filling tavern.

“Can it, Drakon,” he growled with no heat.

"Gladly, Drakon." Felwinter grinned, leaned in and kissed him softly on the cheek. He was never afraid to show his affection, “The kids in bed?”

“It took some doing but yes.”

“You’re amazing, you reali-” Felwinter stopped abruptly as Jarl Balgruuf walked past him, “Uh, should you be here, my Jarl?”

The man stopped, with an expression like a cornered rat that lasted only a second before straightening up, “I’m a grown man, Drakon, I can go where I want.”

“Not according to Irileth.”

“And if you tell her I was here, I tell Hrongar you paid my kids to draw on his face in his sleep.”

“...Noted.”

“I’m sure it is,” Balgruuf offered a smirk to Moth before going on his way.

“Alright, alright! Settle down!” Felwinter raised his hands over the crowd, “I SAID QUIET!!!”

“WHY ARE YOU YELLING?!”

“SHUT UP FARKAS!!!” Felwinter took a breath, “Ladies, gentlemen, those in between and neither; have you heard…of Cidhna Mine?”

Moth choked on his drink, “Cidhna mine? Felwinter, what were you doing in Cidhna mine?!”

“Trying to get out!” That earned an easy laugh from the crowd, “This story begins with me minding my own business.”

That earned him some heckling and claims of bullshit. “But I was!!!”

From her spot next to her husband and the fire, Adrienne called, “And what exactly happened whilst you were ‘minding your own business’?”

“Well if you’d all be quiet and listen!”

* * *

“Finally,” Eltrys hopped down from the feet of the Talos statue, “What took you so long, you said you’d be here a long time ago!”

“Apologies,” Felwinter shook his hand, “I would’ve showed up earlier but I didn’t want to.”

_(“Typical!”)_

_(”QUIET!!!”)_

“Now you had a whole explanation for me seeing a woman gutted in the street?” Fel asked.

“What you saw, the murder, the guards ignoring it? It’s been going on for years and I want to get to the bottom of it. You’re an outsider and you’re dangerous looking-“

“Flatterer.”

“So you’ll do,” Eltrys finished with slight irritation, “I need you to investigate Margaret and her attacker. Find a motive and I’ll pay you for any information you bring me.”

“Should’ve started with payment.” Felwinter sat down at the base of Talos’ feet, leaning against the leg, “Tell me about them, Margaret and the attacker.”

“Well, Margaret isn’t from around here, I know that. She has a room in the Silver Blood in if you’re looking for a starting point.”

“And the killer?”

“Weylin,” Eltrys said, “Worked as a smelter and lived in the Warrens like all the other workers.”

“You know your stuff. What’s this whole thing matter to you?”

_(“Ugh, skip ahead!”)_

_(“Fine!”_ )

The giant brass doors banged open, “Kleppr, friend!” Felwinter raised his arms in greeting, his voice echoing around the quiet tavern.

The innkeeper raised an eyebrow, “Drakon.”

“How’s the wife?”

“Still around,” Kleppr said deadpan as drooped a cup on the bar and started to fish out a drink.

“Ah, no need! No need! I, uh, actually wanted to ask about someone who stayed here.”

“Oh?”

“Margaret. Ring a bell?”

“Ring a bell? Felwinter, I was there!” He said before looking around and lowering his voice, “She’s nearly two years dead. Why does it matter?”

_(“How could you possibly be that late?”)_

_(“Alduin. End of the world. That sort of crap. Shut up.”)_

“Look, just tell me what you know,” Felwinter said, taking on a serious tone.

“She has only been living here for a little while. Rented out the nicest room in the inn. Look, best we all forget about her. Bad luck to talk about the dead in Markarth.”

“Nicest..” Felwinter’s face lit up, “Oh, I remember that one. Fun times in there.” He slapped the bar, “Thanks for the info, Kleppr. Greet the wife for me.”

As if on cue, Frabbi’s voice rang out from around the far corner, demanding Kleppr’s presence. The innkeeper’s eye twitched almost imperceptibly  before he twisted on his heel and stomped towards the back.

Once he was out of sight, Felwinter wasted no time dashing towards the large room doors, picking the lock and closing the door behind him. He picked up an apple, examined it, threw it down, picked up another and took a bite before starting to look around. He pulled open the drawer next the bed, revealing a plain looking journal.

“The Silver-Bloods support the Stormcloaks? That’s not news. And they’re a bunch of corrupt bullies? Shocking,” Felwinter laughed, then coughed, wondering why he felt the need to read out loud, “Here we are. She wanted the deed to…Cidhna Mine? For Tullius? Almost glad she failed.” He sat down on the bed, “Doesn’t connect her to the Forsworn though. Maybe the Warrens will shed some-“

A bang caught Felwinter’s attention. He managed to rush to the space between the doors and the wall before they could fully open, hiding behind it. Furious, angry whispering and quick footsteps came into the room. Frabbi stopped at the center of the room, scowling, hands on her hips and tapping her foot while Kleppr quickly closed the door behind them. Felwinter barely managed to cast an invisibility spell beforehand and still Frabbi did a slight double take at his location. But her terrible mood returned when Kleppr came closer.

She poked a finger into his chest, “Why would you tell that Redguard about Margaret!”

Felwinter had to keep himself from yelling, “Half!”

“Why does it matter? Look around! He’s not here and nothing’s missing!” Felwinter prayed they wouldn’t look at the tray of food.

“Still!” She nearly shrieked, “You idiot! You hare brained buffoon! You, you…”

“I what?!” Kleppr moved into her face, eyes wide and a vein bulging on the side of his balding head, visible even from Felwinter’s distance; angrier than Felwinter had ever seen him before.

Fearing the worst and hoping to calm them down, Felwinter started to stand when Frabbi suddenly grabbed Kleppr’s face and pulled him into a rough, moaning kiss. The strength left Felwinter’s knees.

(“ _Knew it. Ghorza owes me 30 Septims.”)_

_(Moth. Love. Do you mind?” )_

_(“Apologies.”)_

* * *

“You. Hey, you!”

Felwinter snapped out of his daze to see a guard attempting to get his attention as he _finally_ left the Silver-Blood Inn. His magicka drained from constantly having to refresh the spell, it only added to the sickness he felt; alongside other things.

He had to give the old man credit. Not even Felwinter had that kind of stamina.

“Yes, yes, what is it?” He finally answered.

“I’ve seen you snooping around. Asking questions.”

“Questions? I assure you, I have never made any attempt to learn anything a day in my life,” Felwinter snapped, “Now if you’ll excuse me.” The blue clad guard grabbed him by the arm before he could walk past and Felwinter briefly wondered if Markarth military provisions covered reattachment of severed limbs. “Back off,” he growled, “You don’t want to know what happens to troublemakers in Markarth.” The guard let go and walked away. Felwinter didn’t even wait until he was out of sight before he made his way to the Markarth Warrens, turning the corner and heading down to the quiet river that ran through the city. He could even hear Ghorza yelling at her assistant from above.

The interior of the Warrens were a jarring mess. Aside from a few fires, the place was just one long, dark hallway. Several pairs of eyes shot up to meet the mysterious, cleaner stranger, regarding him for just a few more seconds before going back to their own business.

One man continued to stare, “You don’t look like you belong here. What do you want?”

““If I had a septim for every time I heard that in High Rock, ”Felwinter muttered with a laugh, “Did you know the murderer? Weylin?”

"Oh yes. I know everyone who sleeps in the Warrens. Kind of the one who passes the keys around. I guess someone else will be taking his room, now," he said. Felwinter worried slightly for the man’s priorities before shaking it off and saying, “Well, I need the keys to his room. May I have it?”

The man crossed his arms in front of him, “Sorry. But you don’t exactly belong here.”

“Trust me, friend, it’s important.”

“Trust me, _friend_ ,” he blithely mocked, “No, it is not.”

Fel sighed and rubbed his eyes. He would kill to take a nap and this fool was all but begging to be the victim. “Look, you realize I could just make you give it up right?”

The Breton scoffed, “That’s not going to happen.”

“Well, see….you say that-”Felwinter cut himself off, deciding that he already had too many eyes on his ass to be murdering even the poorest of the city. He groaned, “Fine.” Felwinter hefted a small bag of coins, “Does this buy my acceptance?”

The man snatched the bag from his palm and finally tossed Felwinter the key to Weylin’s room, “Welcome to the Warrens,” he chirped with a bright smile. Felwinter sneered but continued on his way.

Weylin’s room was as rundown and unremarkable as the rest of the Warrens. A plain, unkempt bed, a small light and a chest against the wall, which Felwinter unceremoniously kicked open. Inside was a small note, folded and sealed. Felwinter closed the door to Weylin’s room, broke the seal and read. “‘Strike fear into the hearts of the Nords?’” he read out loud. Then he shook his head, “As long as I get paid, they can do what they want.” Felwinter searched through chest for anything of interest, choosing to only take the note and a tiny bag of septims before kicking the lid shut, leaving Weylin’s place, shoving past the Breton near the entrance and the Warrens altogether.

“You.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“You’ve been digging around where don’t belong,” an unwashed man with a deep voice and roughened leather armor, “It’s time you learned a lesson.”

Felwinter looked him up and down, woefully unimpressed, “Weird way of propositioning me. You’re a bit skinny to be my type.”

_(“That is just classic you!”)_

_(“It is, isn’t it?”)_

The fight didn’t last long, if it could even be called that. It ended with the man’s skull trapped between Felwinter’s boot and Makarth’s stone ground. “Who sent you?” Felwinter demanded, possible names already running through his mind.

“You mangy piece of pit-bait!” He spat out.

Felwinter pressed down, “Talk or I will paint the roads with your brain.”

“Damn it, get off of me!” He yelled, struggling for a bit longer before giving up, “I...I was sent by Nepos the Nose. He’s the one who hands out the orders and he told me to make sure you didn’t get in the way!”

“The Nose? And people say my name is ridiculous.”

_(“It is honestly.”)_

_(“Quiet, War-Goat.”)_

“I’m guessing Nepos is the ‘N’ sending these notes.” Felwinter kicked off his head and the man’s hand shot up to clutch the bruised side, “Learn to fight better. You might not be as useful to me next time.”

* * *

“Eltrys!”

“Shh! Keep your voice down!” Eltrys came scrambling out from behind the Talos statue, “Please tell me you found something.”

Felwinter lifted the notes up and waved them in the air before handing them over. Eltrys grabbed and opened both. “Margaret works for Tullius?” He murmured, blinking in surprise, “And Weylin got his orders from…N? Who in Akatosh’s name is ‘N’?”

“Nepos,” Felwinter answered, snapping Eltrys out of his own thoughts, “Tell me about him.”

“The man’s been in Markarth forever. And he’s well respected among the natives of the Reach.” He started to fish around in his pockets before finding and tossing Felwinter a bag of septims.

“More than respected, it seems. He sent someone to beat me up for asking too many questions.”

“You’re not hurt, are you?”

Felwinter laughed.

Eltrys blinked in surprise, “Well, thanks for this. What will you do now?”

“You still need answers, don’t you?” Fel asked, “And I want to have a chat with Nepos.”

“Oh. Sounds violent.”

“It might be.”

* * *

“Excuse me. What is your business here?”

Felwinter let the door bang loudly behind him and smiled sweetly at the woman addressing him, “I’m looking for Nepos. I was told I could find him here.”

She crossed her arms, “We haven’t been expecting you. And the old man needs his rest.”

“Uaile,” a voice suddenly called out from further inside the home, “It’s alright. Let him in.”

“Hmph.” She scowled. Felwinter smiled back, “Yes, Nepos.”

Felwinter walked further into the admittedly nice home. Everyone’s eyes were on him, burning holes into his head. All except for one old man in front of a fire, head in a book. “I apologize for my maid’s behavior. She’s always been rather protective of me.”

“Hmm. You’d think try to make her job easier by not sending hired thugs after people,” Felwinter said, “Or at least send ones who won’t talk.”

“Ah, yes.” Nepos closed the book, “You've proven to be a real bloodhound. Well, you've sniffed me out. I've been playing this game for almost twenty years. Sending the young to their deaths. All in the name of the Forsworn. And I'm tired. So tired."

“Why?”

Nepos closed his eyes and leaned back, sighing wearily. Then he simply stared into the fire for a long time. Felwinter was content to wait. "Because my king told me to. Madanach, leader of the Forsworn” he finally answered, “When the uprising fell at the hands of the Nords, they threw him in the mines. I don't know how, but he lives. I get his messages, and I hand out his orders without question."

Felwinter scowled in disgust. He leaned in, “People like you are the reason I _hate_ soldiers. Following orders for just any old idiot. Then you think you’re excused just because it was ‘just orders’.”

Nepos laughed at that, full and hearty, “I know who you are, Felwinter Drakon. Thane of the Reach. And Whiterun, Winterhold and Hjaalmarch and so forth. Hero of Nirn. Fabled Dragonborn of prophecy. Married to a veteran of the Imperial Legion, if I’m not mistaken. Maybe your husband can tell you more about following orders.”

Felwinter leaned in, putting his head next to the man’s ear, “Compare yourself to Moth gro-Bagol again,” he whispered. He could already feel the vein throbbing in his temple, “I _dare_ you.”

Nepos sniffed, unintimidated and woefully unimpressed. Felwinter straightened up, “Why are you telling me all of this?”

He laughed again, “My dear boy, what makes you think you're getting out of here alive? You were seen coming in. The girl at the door is a Forsworn agent masquerading as a maid. You aren't the first one to have gotten this far. You won't be the last."

“You know who I am. So you also know what I’m capable of,” Felwinter said.

“Dragon Shouts. Expert battlemage,” Nepos rattled off, “Even access to a spell that lets you summon to your person any weapon or set of armor you own. A small army disguised as one man. Trust me, I’ve done my studies.”

Felwinter regarded the old man for a few seconds. He had to admit, he always expected an element of surprise within those he fought. He wondered what else this man knew of him. Especially pertaining to his family.

But he knew Nepos wouldn’t speak on that. And despite the stories of Felwinter’s brutality in fights, Nepos was confident the lot of them could take him down. So Felwinter decided to use the old man’s confidence against him. He pulled one of the seats behind them closer, sat down and demanded, “Tell me about Madanach.”

"He is the King in Rags. A man who once held all the Reach within his grip. He stokes the passions of the downtrodden in this city. Directs them to kill the enemies of the Forsworn in our name. All from inside Cidhna Mine. A Nord prison. The irony is quite thick."

Nepos suddenly stood up and squared his shoulders. Felwinter could hear the others moving into position. "Markarth and the Reach are our lands,” he declared, “That is why we are the Forsworn. We cannot claim the home that is rightly ours. But then during their war with the elves, we had our moment. We drove the Nords out of the Reach in a great uprising. Then Ulfric and his men came. Those of us who didn't run were executed, except for myself, my king, and a handful of others."

“I see,” Felwinter chuckled, “Ulfric is a bastard all over, isn’t he?”

For the first time, Nepos did not laugh. But he did smile grimly, “Are you prepared?”

“I’m a bit hungry but otherwise, yes.”

The sound of weapons being drawn rang out behind him. Footsteps came closer and closer. A spell cast and a bow drawn back.

Beast hearing had its advantages.

_(“This is getting exciting! I hope the main character dies.”)_

Felwinter dipped to the side, toppling the chair over with him. A shimmering blue Bound arrow thudded into the fire. Chair still in his hands, he twisted around to his feet and launched the chair at the back, forcing the maid to drop her arrow and dodge. The magical markings on his arm shone out in the low light and the energy quickly covered his entire frame. When the light dropped, Felwinter was covered in gold and pitch black Dragonbone armor. “Why don’t you try and stick an arrow in me again.” He brought up a matching sword, “I’m sure I can take it all this time.”

_(“Ha!!!”)_

She did, drawing and loosing in the direction of Felwinter’s head. Fel brought up his arm, the arrow head shattering against dragon bone before he responded in kind with a spear of ice that pierced her chest.

Two more Forsworn came at him with blades raised. Felwinter blocked one incoming attack with the dragonbone sword and conjured a Bound one to deflect the second, quickly stabbing it into the second swordsman’s ribs before disarming the first man and running him through. Then before the second swordsman could defend himself, Felwinter kicked down the back of his knee and scissored off his head.

Nepos was all that was left.

The old man chuckled, steel sword still raised, “You’re good.”

Felwinter shook the blood off the dragonbone sword and dispelled the Bound one. “You mean you didn’t know that already?” He started to trudge closer.

“On some level, I think I did.” Nepos sword arm lowered, “Go ahead, boy. Do what you need to do. I hope your friend fights as well as you.”  

Felwinter stopped in front of him, glaring down at the Reachman. “What? Don’t tell me you’re one of those men who refuse to kill a surrendering opponent? You always looked the murderous type to me.“

Felwinter suddenly pushed two fingers against Nepos’ head, cutting him off. “Yet another thing right about me. Congratulations.” Fel fired off a lightning bolt from his fingers. The bolt shot straight through Nepos’ skull, splattering the back wall with steaming blood and blackened chunks of gore.

He spared the corpse only a second more of attention before rushing towards the exit, barreling past a pair of guards on his way to the Shrine of Talos. He knocked the doors open just in time to see two guards back Eltrys up against the statue and trip backwards.

_“TIID!!!”_ Felwinter Shouted, already moving. Eltrys’ fall and the guard’s descending sword both slowed. Before the blade could make contact, Felwinter came up behind them, brought his blade up and stabbed into the guard’s sword arm. Time resumed its normal course and the guard screamed loudly and staggered back, giving Felwinter precious seconds to kill the other guard before finishing off the first one.

Eltrys was on the ground, heaving but alive, “What happened? What was that?!!”

Footsteps, shouting and clanking armor echoed closer. No time to drag him to n exit. Felwinter snapped his fingers in front of Eltrys’ face and the Breton dropped into his arms, unconscious. Felwinter quickly dragged him out of sight behind the statue before casting the letter ‘S’ with two sets of numbers next to Eltrys’ head and hoped he’d recognize them as directions.

“What in Talos’ name…” Felwinter rose at the sound of a guard’s voice. She brought her blade up at him, “Stop!”

“Stopping.”

“What happened here?” She demanded. “And in Nepos’ house. What did you do?”

Fel shrugged, “My sword slipped?” Two more guards came running down the stairs, stopping in their tracks once they saw the carnage. One guard audibly swallowed before turning to the one holding Felwinter at sword point, “Everyone in Nepos’ home is dead. Everyone.”

“Arrest him!” Felwinter raised his arms in surrender, two of guards came and forced him to the ground, “You’re going away for a long time, Drakon. Do you hear me?”

“You’ll never see the sun again.” They brought him up and pushed him towards the doors. “No one escapes Cidhna mine. No one.”

_(“Did she actually say that or is this one of those things where the storyteller plugs the title of the story into the story itself?”)_

_(“SHUT UP!!!” The entire inn roared with laughter.)_

* * *

They had taken everything. His armor, his weapons. They had even brought mages and alchemists along to suppress his powers. All in all, nothing he couldn’t handle if he wanted to. He had broken out Hammerfell and even Cyrodiil prisons with less. But he didn’t want to. This whole conspiracy with Nepos, Thonar and the Forsworn had become his business and there was someone here he wanted words with.

Eltrys should be awake by now and if he deciphered Fel’s message correctly, he should have collected his things and gotten out of Markarth. Felwinter would find him when this was over.

The doors to his dark cell suddenly slammed open and an imposing Orsimer woman stomped inside. Felwinter lazily got off the bed and got to his feet.

A pickaxe was tossed at his bare feet. “There’s no resting your hide in this prison,” she snapped, “Here, you work. You’ll mine ore until you start throwing up silver bars.”

“And here I was thinking the point of prison was to find the biggest prisoner and make him your boyfriend. I’ll admit, I was looking forward to that.”

“Shut up.”

“Or girlfriend. Haven’t been with a woman in a long time.”

_(“Have you no shame?”)_

_(“You knew the answer to that when you married me.”)_

_(“…I did, didn’t I?”)_

The guard looked less than amused. “Don’t get smart with me, Redguard-“

“Half Breton.”

“Keep it up and I’ll have your fucking toes cut off!”

“My beautiful toes? My beautiful, beautiful toes?”

“Move!”

_(“You’re having too much fun.”)_

_(“No such thing, Farkas.”)_

Felwinter finally obeyed, lifting up the pickaxe and making his way down the rickety wooden plank. There were two men there, one before a fire and another, a beast of an Orc, standing in front of a locked door.

“You,” the Breton by the fire called and jerked his head, beckoning Felwinter over. “What are you in for, new blood?”

“Murder, apparently.”

“Violent one, eh? Best keep something like that to yourself lest the others take it as a challenge. What’s your name?”

“Felwinter.”

“Uraccen. Left behind a daughter named Uaile in Markarth. She works as a maid for a nobleman named Nepos. Have you met her?”

“Nope.”

“Well, if you want my advice, serve your time with a pickaxe and get out. Don’t want to end up with a shiv in the guts over a bottle of skooma.”

“Know anyone by the name of Madanach, Uraccen?”

Uraccen’s eyes narrowed. “Nobody talks to Madanach,” he intoned, “Not without getting past Borkul the Beast. And you don’t want to talk to Borkul the Beast.” He jerked his head toward the face painted Orc, who was unabashedly staring Felwinter down.

_(“So that’s what happened to him?”)_

_(“You knew him Moth?”)_

_(“He and my sister spent time together.”)_

“Tell me about Borkul, then.”

“Madanach's guard. Big, even for an Orc.”

“Obviously.”

“Heard he ripped a man's arm off and beat him to death with it. He's old-fashioned like that.”

“Sounds like my kind of man.” Felwinter hooped to his feet and practically sidled up to the Orc.

_(“There’s always those stories where you can tell the author is attracted to one of their own characters.”)_

_(“Is that why you own every volume of the Lusty Argonian Maid, huh, Vilkas? You like the...descriptions?”)_

“You’re the new meat huh?” Borkul growled, eyeing him up and down, “So soft. Tender.”

“A little forward for our first meeting but alright. It’s nice to not have the be the one to…initiate.” Felwinter grinned.

To his surprise, the Orc grinned back, “So you’re here for murder. Tell me, what was it like killing your first one, huh?”

Felwinter almost laughed at the implication that this was his first killing. Instead he hissed, “The most exhilarating thing in the world. Slowly pushing the blade into their throat, watching the light and the hope leave their eyes.” Felwinter faked a shuddering breath, “Sometimes I lie awake at night and think about it. When I have nothing but a bottle of wine and my own hand for company.” During the fake reminiscing, Felwinter had managed to slide closer and closer to Borkul, whose pupils were blown wide and the side of his mouth tugging upward, until Felwinter could feel the man’s body heat on him. Borkul took one long inhale and growled deep in his throat. Uraccen had already made himself scarce.

“I could…reminisce with you later tonight. If you like. You look like you’ve got more stories to tell,” Borkul’s hand unashamedly ran up Felwinter’s side, pushing his ragged shirt up slightly.

“I do. And I would. But first, I’ve got business with Madanach. I must see him.”

Borkul’s lecherous grin turned into a scowl, “What business exactly? I wasn’t expecting you.”

Felwinter put his hands up placatingly, “It’s kind of a rushed thing. I have information he _really_ needs to hear.” For good measure, Felwinter roughly ran his head up Borkul’s chest, hard enough to shift the big man slightly and elicit a moan, “Won’t be but a moment.”

“Fine,” Borkul quickly unlocked the cage door. Felwinter slid past him, never breaking eye contact. “Hurry back.”

Felwinter almost wondered if one night in the prison would really be that bad.

At the end of the maze was Madanach, sitting at a rather nice looking wooden desk. Older than Felwinter expected but no less powerful looking. Nonetheless, Felwinter took one of the nearby chairs to sit backwards on.

"Well, well. Look at you. The Nords have turned you into an animal,” Madanach said, not even looking up from his writing. “A wild beast caged up and left to go mad. So, my fellow beast, what do you want? Answers about the Forsworn? Revenge for trying to have you killed?"

Felwinter spun his finger in the air, “We’ll circle back to that. My main priority is my freedom,” he said, “I’d very much like to go home.”

The Forsworn scoffed, “Your freedom? Yes. But even if you were to escape Cidhna Mine, your name would still be stained with all that blood.”

“I can live with that.”

“"You're one of us now, you see? A slave. The boot of the Nord stepping on your throat. Maybe if you understood that, I could help you.”

Felwinter’s instinctual reaction was to scoff. He didn’t need help. He could bring the entire prison down on their heads just by raising his voice. But something made him pause. The way Madanach worded his argument. He knew the Silver-Bloods owned the mines but slavery seemed too harsh a word to describe their conditions and as far as he knew, they were all murderers.

“There's a man named Braig inside these mines,” Madanach continued when the silence started to extend, “Besides me, he's been here the longest. Tell him I sent you. Ask him why he's here. I want you to know how widespread the injustice of Markarth is."He stopped writing and finally looked at Felwinter, “ There's a man named Braig inside these mines. Besides me, he's been here the longest. Ask him why he's here. I want you to know how widespread the injustice of Markarth is."

* * *

Felwinter stepped through the door, sparing Borkul a small smile before continuing deeper into the mine, where the sound of stone being struck was louder. Braig was deep in, back to the entrance. “You Braig?” Fel asked.

The Reachman regarded him suspiciously for a few seconds before straightening up and resting his pickaxe on his shoulder. “Depends on who’s asking.”

“Madanach sent me. Told me to find out why you’re here.”

“Hmm. He did, did he?” Braig rubbed the stubble on his chin, “Everyone here has a story. So, you first. When was the first time you ever felt chains around your wrist?”

Felwinter sighed and leaned against the wall, “Since I was young. Always been a troublemaker and when you grow up looking like I do in a place as political as High Rock, people show much less tolerance.” His expression and tone became more and more serious, “Things my peers would get hand slaps for or a strict talking to, I’d get nights in prison. First time? Seven years old, playing with some other kids and they accidentally threw a ball through glass window. Guess whose fault it was?”

“You?”

“Nope. But guess who spent the night in jail until his mother was finally able to secure his release?”

“Tsk. A shame. High Rock, huh?” Braig leaned in, “You look Redguard. But the eyes say Breton.”

“One plus one equals two.”

“Apparently.” Braig lifted the pickaxe up again and got to work, “You have family then?”

“Yes, a family here and my mother in High Rock.”

“Father?”

“I’d assume. And If I ever meet him, I’m knocking his jaw clean off his face.”   

Braig stopped again, “I had a daughter, once. She'd be 23 this year. Married to some hot-headed silver worker or maybe on her own learning the herb trade. The Nords didn't care who was and who wasn't involved in the Forsworn Uprising. I had spoken to Madanach once, that was enough. But my little Aethra didn't want to see her papa leave her. She pleaded to the Jarl to take her instead. And after they made me watch as her head rolled off the block, they threw me in here anyway, to dig up their silver."

Felwinter genuinely taken aback, “I’m...I’m sorry to hear that. I can’t imagine-”

“Well, I do,” he said sharply, “Every time I close my eyes. Go around and you’ll find plenty of stories.” He jerked his head at one man, “Him? Accused of a murder he didn’t commit. Thrown in here without trial. We even have petty thief in here serving a life sentence. Nord justice indeed. That satisfy your curiosity?”

“And then some,” Fel breathed, “Thanks. I’m…I'm heading back to Madanach.”

Just when Felwinter thought this city couldn’t possibly get any worse, it did. The universe seemed to take it as a challenge. First, that mess with the abandoned house then Namira’s now dead followers. Now this.

The Silver-Bloods were slave owners. It was a jarring revelation. Moth was good friends with Thongvor, both having served in the Imperial Legion. Thonar, who seemed to be the real hand behind all of this, Moth knew less. And even the Jarl Igmund seemed complicit. Felwinter couldn’t justify the actions of the Forsworn but he would be the last person to pass judgement. He wiped out a brotherhood of assassins because one threatened his husband and kids. They were assassins, of course but a life was a life. If someone had one day decided to take out whatever vendetta they had against him on his family, not even he knew what he would do.

Probably turn Skyrim into a smoking crater, just to start.

Felwinter made his way back to Madanach, lost in his own head. He was before the man before he knew it, who began speaking before he could even sit down again, “Imagine hearing a story like that, over and over. Each time a different family. A different injustice,” he said, voice raising, “Your meddling above ground and killing my people reminded me of how removed I've been from the struggle. My men and I should be in the hills, fighting.”

Felwinter took a deep breath and lowered his voice, “We escaping then?”

“My people and I are escaping,” the old Reachman corrected, “You want in? You need to prove your loyalty to me. You’ve caused me no end of trouble and I don’t need a shiv in the back on the way out.”

Felwinter regarded him for sometime before asking, “What do you need?”

“Have you met Grisvar the Unlucky?” Madanach questioned, “He's rightly named, and he's also a thief and a snitch. He's outlived his minor usefulness. Take care of him, then we can leave Cidhna Mine for good and have all your past transgressions forgiven."

“I’m no assassin.”

Madanach snorted, “Assassination would assume Grisvar is or was important. He’s nothing to no one.” He turned the page in his journal and began writing again, “You’re no assassin, I’m sure. But you are a murderer. So go. Murder.” Then he shrugged, “Or die in here.”

The beginnings of a plan began to form in Felwinter’s head. “Tell me about Thonar Silver-Blood.”

The quill stopped. A vein pulsed on Madanach’s head. “I _had_ Markarth,” he seethed, “My men and I drove the Nords out. We had won, or so we thought. Retribution was swift. I was captured, quickly tried, and sentenced to death. But my execution never came. Thonar Silver-Blood stopped it. He wanted the Forsworn at his call, that I would point their rage at his enemies and spare his allies.” Madanach took a deep breath, “And I have.”

“Would you have preferred execution?”

“I would.” He started writing again, “But this has given me a chance to bide my time and rebuilding my army while gaining Thonar’s trust.”

“Taking advantage of him enslaving other people to recruit them to your cause?”

“You disapprove?”

“Can’t say that I do.” Felwinter slowly stood, hesitating slightly before saying, “I’ll be right back.”

Madanach smirked, “I await the good news.”

_(“Felwinter…”)_

_(“I know. I know. Just…wait.”)_

Grisvar had been the thief Braig mentioned. Put in here for the rest of his life for something as petty as stealing. Felwinter spoke with him before doing what he had to do. The old Nord knew the direness of his own situation but was hopeful, promising to give up stealing for good if by some grace of the gods he ever managed to get out. And despite the amount of times he had gotten caught stealing, Felwinter believed he meant it this time.

It only made it harder for Felwinter to follow him back to his cell when the work day was over and do what he had to do. He laid him gently down on the ground. Anyone who saw him would think he was just sleeping deeply.

“It’s done?”

Felwinter grunted, not trusting his own voice.

Madanach smiled madly, “Then we break out at dawn. I suggest you get some rest. Tomorrow, we stain Markarth red.”

Felwinter nodded, standing and leaving without ceremony. He didn’t agree with their actions, past, present or future. He couldn’t care less about their cause either; it simply wasn’t his problem. But what was done to them was wrong. And Thonar needed to learn that there were consequences to his actions.

“And Felwinter?”

He stopped and turned his head. Madanach was laying on the bed, hands laced behind his head with his eyes closed and a smile on his face, “Tell Borkul he can take off for tonight.”

Despite everything, Felwinter gave a wry smile. It was clear Borkul could hear them just fine, judging by the way Borkul was grinning when he reached him. Felwinter shrugged internally and jerked his head in the direction of the stairs with a smile and started walking, suppressing a yelp when a large hand ran up his backside.

_(“Walking must’ve been fun the next morning,” Farkas jeered, much to the crowd’s amusement.)_

_(“Not really. I know healing spells. Just like you wished you knew  the night after that Imperial mercenary paid Jorrvaskr a visit!”)_

_(Balgruuf choked on his drink and the crowd laughed even harder. Even Moth stoicism had dropped, face in his hands and shoulders shaking.)_

“Sleep well?” Madanach asked at the base of the stairs.

Borkul brushed past him, tying up the the strings on his pants. “Like a baby.”

“Good.” A crowd was starting to gather around him, “We’ll need the Dragonborn at his full strength.”

“Grisvar wasn’t moving this morning, Madanach. I know it wasn’t his time and I know you had something to do with it,” Uraccen crossed his arms.

"My brothers,” Madanach beckoned them closer with raised arms, “We have been here long enough! It's time to leave Cidhna Mine and continue our fight against the Nords. Through this gate, just beside my quarters, is a tunnel.” He pointed, “A tunnel that leads right through the old Dwarven ruins of Markarth, into the city. Well, what do you say, my brothers?"

Cheers erupted and echoed off the cave walls. The crowd all but tore down Madanach’s door trying to reach his escape route. “Inspiring,” Felwinter said deadpan.

“I try,” Madanach snarked right back, “You should head to the front. No end of trouble on the way to freedom.”

* * *

“In my defense,” Madanach huffed, hands on his knees, “I wasn’t expecting so many spiders.”

“What about the Dwarven Spheres. Did you calculate for them?” Felwinter was sitting at the base of the stairs, just before the door that would lead into Markarth, with the Forsworn and their king. He had a gold glowing palm to his side, sealing a wound close. Stoneflesh spells could only offer so much protection.

“I did.” Madanach rose up, “That’s why you were in front.” A woman by the name of Kaie had brought his and Felwinter’s effects, somehow having managed to steal them out from under the jailors. Madanach, she had brought a full set of Forsworn armor. However, she was only able to recover Felwinter’s sword; the rest was too heavy and had to be left behind.

Madanach stared down at the blade, “May I see it, brother?” After a second, Felwinter held it up by the scabbard and let him pull it out. “A sword made out of refined dragon bones. Amazing.” He looked back down at Felwinter, “Is it strong?”

“I’ve swiped through an ebony sword before. Two clean pieces.”

“You give it a name yet?’ Madanach asked, eyes still on the blade.

“I...have not. Hmm,” Felwinter thought for a moment as Madanach handed the sword back. “Zazikel,” he finally said, “I like Zazikel.”

“Quite unique. What’s the inspiration?”

“Inspiration is looking too many times into the Elder Scrolls and seeing a plethora of other realities. Something about an archdemon?” Felwinter thought aloud before shaking his head, “Forget it.”

_(“But...the price for looking at the Elder Scrolls even once is madness and...that actually explains a lot.”)_

_(“Hurtful!”)_

“Ah, here,” Madanach said, accepting another set of Forsworn armor before handing it over to Felwinter, “It’s blessed by the old magicks.” The old man smiled, “Something to remember me by.”

Guilt pricked Felwinter. He took it graciously anyway.

"Now?” Madanach said to everyone, “I announce to all of Markarth that I have returned. Don't worry about your name, Felwilwinter. They'll know who to blame and fear after today. It'll take years, but I'll organize the Forsworn again. We'll reclaim our land, and then, when power is ours, we'll have peace! A kingdom!” Madanach’s army cheered. He looked at Felwinter, still holding the gifted armor, “Until then, let me offer you a warning. Beware the Forsworn. No place in the Reach is safe from us now.”

“Yeah,” Felwinter nodded slowly before looking Madanach in the eye, “Yeah, I know.”

Madanach rejoined his still cheering men. Felwinter let go of the armor, letting it fall to the ground. The Forsworn king pushed towards the front and preparing to pull open the doors into the city of Markarth when an arrow suddenly sprouted from his shoulder.

The Reachman fell forward, slamming against the brass doors. He spun around and his rage filled eyes landed on Felwinter, holding a bow with a nocked arrow.

Madanach heaved. “ _Why?”_

“Remember that revenge we discussed?” Fel answered coldly, “This is me circling back to it.” He loosed the arrow, catching Braig in the chest and killing him instantly. Then the bow disappeared and the markings on his arm shone bright, donning him with the left behind dragonbone armor. Then the markings shone again and a long black slender katana extended from his hand. Mephala’s malevolent laugh echoed in his mind.

“This will do,” she murmured silently in his head, “This will do nicely.”

Madanach turned dark red and veins pulsed around his head and neck. He ripped the arrow from his own back and pointed his sword down at Felwinter with one order for his men and one order only.

“ _KILL HIM!!!”_

The entire army charged, footsteps slamming down hard enough to to shake dust and stones from the ceiling above. Felwinter paid it no mind. “ _HUN KAAL ZOOR,”_ he Shouted directly in front of him. The spirit of Hakon One-Eye didn’t even wait till he was fully corporeal to charge into the fray. Out of the corner of his eye, Felwinter watched Kaie use a nearby ledge to leap down onto him. Felwinter parried her blade, wrenched it from her grip and ran her through, kicking her corpse of his sword.

Those not kept occupied by Hakon charged him. Felwinter quickly weaved the Conjuration spell into his palm and released it, bringing forth the titanic Centurion Lord. Some of the Forsworn hesitated at the sight and were promptly flattened into the ground. Others took the monster head on or found ways around it, still bearing down on Felwinter, who prepared to meet them.

* * *

Felwinter fell down to one knee, using the Ebony Blade to keep upright. It had been a hard fight. The first in a long time Felwinter wasn’t sure he was going to make it out of. Borkul had earned his name, hitting Hakon hard enough to dispel the spirit, killing the Centurion Lord and nearly taking off Felwinter’s head, all in one berserker rage.

But he went down. One by one or even in groups, they all did. Markarth was safe.

Now all that was left was Madanach, who was leaning against the doors at the top of the stair, having sustained his own injuries in the fight. But he was still very much alive and regarded Felwinter coldly.

“It’s over, Madanach!” Felwinter yelled, rising up and teetering slightly.

To his surprise, the old man laughed, “I suppose it is. Look at them,” Madanach whispered, staring down at the remains of his army, “Everything I’ve done. All that I’ve suffered. And for what?” His head fell back against the doors, as if he was trying to keep tears in, “Ruin and death. There is nothing else.”

With one hand to his side, Madanach used the other to bring himself to his feet. “Why?” he asked again, rage replaced by grief and hurt.

“It wasn’t for revenge.” Fel admitted, “I lied. I do occasionally.” He sheathed his weapon, “At first, I let myself be captured because it actually was for revenge. For sending Nepos and his ilk after me. But I listened to your story, Madanach. And Braig’s.” Fel shook his head, “What was done to you was wrong. Thonar Silver-Blood and Ulfric Stormcloak had no right to do what they did to you, to all of you. They should’ve just given you a warrior’s death and been done with it.”

Madanach remained silent, so Felwinter went on, walking slowly, “As much as I would rather see you freed, you’re right. With your rebellion, the Reach wouldn’t have been safe and all of Markarth would’ve run red by your hand, innocent or guilty.” He stopped at the base of the stairs, looking up at the old man, “I ignore my conscious daily. But I couldn’t allow that.”

“We fought and we lost,” Madanach finally said, “I understand what you mean.”

Felwinter offered a small smile.

“But I’m still not dead.” Madanach removed his hand from his side, revealing it covered in blood. He pressed his two palms together and the blood started to glow between them. The cavern started to get very, very cold.

“I saw that mighty beast you brought forth. I fought it! You’re good, Felwinter,” he snarled as ice and frost started to swirl around him in copious amounts, “But you still have a lot to learn.”

Madanach thrust his hands forward. The massive Blizzard spell coalesced around his arms and shot forward as a concentrated wave, bearing down on Felwinter.

Felwinter brought his own palms up, shooting out a wave of flames that met the ice in the middle. It had little effect. The flames were slowly pushed back until Felwinter was on his knees, barely able to keep the spell away. Blood was dripping from Madanach’s side in lethal amounts. Not enough to drop the old man before the spell overtook Felwinter.

He could feel his hair and beard frosting up and the ice beating against his face, cutting through skin. The little that remained of his magicka was quickly draining away due to his last, futile efforts to ward off the Blizzard spell.

White filled filled his eyes.

He saw his family.

Words filled his throat.

Then he saw fire.

In an echoing roar, a spear of flame burst from his open maw, tearing through Madanach’s spell and slamming him into the door. When the fire finally stopped, Madanach’s charred body was flat against the Dwarven brass, his eyes wide with shock.

Then he fell forward onto his knees and down to the ground, dead at last.

Felwinter stared at him for a few seconds before doubling over to spit up vomit and blood. Then rising up again, he turned around and limped back in the direction they had come. He wasn’t finished.  

* * *

It was Grisvar who pulled the bronze doors open. Felwinter could barely stand. After he did, the Nord ran back to him and pulled Fel’s arm around his shoulder, helping him forward.

The sun was blinding. Or at least that’s what Grisvar claimed when the tears spilled from his eyes.

Felwinter smiled at that. Who knew Sanguine’s ridiculous concoction would end up helping him so much. But he was grateful. He might even say a prayer.

Grisvar froze up and Felwinter almost lurched forward. A contingent of guards was blocking their way.

At the center was Thonar, smiling at him.

Felwinter straightened up and moved between them and Grisvar. He had put in too much work keeping this man alive to let Thonar of all people kill him. But to his surprise, Thonar started clapping and laughing. “The King in Rags is dead!” He all but roared, “You truly are amazing, Felwinter Drakon. And you’ve done me a great service.”

“You?” Felwinter’s eyes narrowed with anger, “You and Nepos tried to kill Eltrys. You threw all of these people into slavery and for what?! To line your own pockets?!”

“Tried huh? So he’s alive.” Thonar rubbed his chin, ignoring Felwinter’s other accusations, “That would explain why Rhiada left in such a hurry. Shame. No other maid was nearly as fun to look at.”

In the midst of his rage, Fel felt relief. Eltrys escaped.

Thonar waved it off, “It all worked out in the end. The Forsworn have been severely weakened and this whole business is concluded. You’re free to go, Felwinter.” He took something glimmering out of his pocket, “A token of my gratitude. I’ll have your name cleared by the end of the night. Advantages to my brother being the Jarl.”

He tossed the ring to Felwinter, who snatched it out of the air. He looked down at it and said, “ _Our_ names.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your brother will be clearing _our_ names. Mine and his.” Felwinter jerked his head back at Grisvar. Thonar sneered but otherwise nodded, “Done. Now if you’ll excuse me, it seems I have an empty mine in need of workers.”

“Wait what?” Felwinter said, appalled.

Thonar ignored him, already walking away, “Maybe it’s time I start looking through the debt book again. Or the Warrens. They must be getting full.” Felwinter watched him go, appalled before weakness caught up to him again. Grisvar barely caught him in time. Taking a few more seconds to glare holes into the back of Thonar’s head, Felwinter directed him to Ghorza and Tacitus. His sister in law and her assistant did most of the patching up he needed and helped Felwinter and Grisvar to Felwinter’s house, where Argis had to take over taking care of him and the former thief stayed the night.

Once inside, Grisvar and Felwinter spoke for hours. About what he had hoped to do with his life, expressing an interest in learning magic and seeing more of Skyrim.

Grisvar also had plenty to say about the beauty of Felwinter’s home. When Felwinter put him on a carriage with a satchel of gold, the Silver-Blood ring and an acceptance letter into the College of Winterhold, Fel noticed with a smile that not a single thing had gone missing from his home.

Not that he had any doubts.

* * *

Felwinter’s story had received a standing ovation and several drinks bought in his name. He was buzzed while telling it, now he was absolutely wasted, him and an equally wasted Ulfberth yelling insults back and forth like they always did. Just as Moth thought it was going to come to blows at one particular insult (again) Felwinter  fell out of his chair and just laid there on the floor, laughing like mad until Ulfberth picked him up again.

At the end of the night, it was Moth who had to help him back to the house. At least to keep him on the right path. He was somber now, his gaze far away.

“You alright, love?” Moth rumbled. Fel’s arm came up and fell around his shoulder, hand lifting to play in his hair. “Just thinking about Madanach and the others.”

“And that Borkul. Should I be jealous?”

Moth’s attempt to lighten the mood worked. Felwinter snorted, “I’d be flattered if you did.” Then he sighed, “It was wrong what Thonar did. So, so wrong. And then he wanted to do it again, with a whole new set of victims.” Fel shook his head, “I won’t allow it.”

Moth watched his eyes go from distant to determined and worried.

* * *

The week after Felwinter’s return, Moth received a letter from his sister.

Thonar Silver-Blood was dead.

Felwinter hadn’t left Whiterun the entire time and Thonar had been killed away from Markarth, attacked by Forsworn. In a reply letter, Moth offered his condolences to Thongvor and Betrid. Then he asked Felwinter if he had killed Thonar.

Felwinter denied it with an air that left no room for the idea that he was lying. He hadn’t paid anyone to do it either. He wasn’t an assassin nor did he enable assassins.

A courier arrived a few days later with an envelope, sealed even to the courier. Felwinter opened it and smiled widely before tipping the young man and sending him on his way. Moth took the paper from his hand and read it. “Felwinter…”

He took it back. “I didn’t kill him. That was divine retribution right there.”

“I know, Fel. I believe you. But why do you have this?”

Felwinter smiled, “Turns out I’m _really_ good at forging handwriting. Just needed to find his will and copy it to a different parchment. With some changes, of course,” Felwinter tucked the paper away and walked towards the portal, activating it. “If you need me, Moth, I’ll be in Markarth. I now own an empty silver mine and I’m sure there’s no end of people looking for work. Don’t worry, I’ll be a much better boss than the last one.” He stuck one leg in, “See you for dinner, Moth.”  


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love that the two storylines of this chapter connect at one little point and nowhere else
> 
> Anyway, Felwinter joins the Thieves Guild

“Again.”

Samuel and Lucia struck the makeshift dummies at Moth’s command. Down the torso then across.

“Samuel, stand wider,” he barked corrections, “Lucia, hit it harder. Again.” The cycle repeated. The kids went through the movements, Moth gave corrections. It symbolized the most important lesson both him and Felwinter taught. Survival required perfection. Despite his constant stumbling in and out of trouble, Felwinter understood this.

“Enough.” They both paused, huffing for air, “Well done. Has Felwinter taken you over your lessons?”

Lucia popped up, “Watch this!” She held up her hands. The palms started to glow a gentle blue and a frosty mist gathered at the center. Suddenly, a ball of snow popped into existence and plopped in her hand.

“Um…impressive?” Moth tried. He wasn’t the mage in the family. And now, Felwinter wasn't the only mage. Moth made a mental note to have Felwinter fireproof the house again. And ice-proof and lightning-proof and Daedra-proof and

“Pa!” He shook himself out of his own thoughts, “Ah, that’s good. You’re done for the day.” They took off for Dragonsreach, exhaustion forgotten. Moth was left to pick up their wooden swords and put them back where they belonged.

Now that he remembered, Felwinter was up there. Moth decided to go to him, see if he was free enough to grab something to eat. Moth would probably be ribbed by the man for it, as if the same man wasn’t inordinately blatant about their lives together and how in love he was with Moth. Then again, the same man wouldn’t know shame if someone beat him with it.

Moth trudged through the busy center of Whiterun, pausing only to respond to Danica’s greeting at the Gildegreen and grunt back to Eurlond. He could hear Vilkas barking orders at his junior Companions, sounding not unlike Moth just a few minutes prior.

Entering Dragonsreach, Moth prepared to make his way up to the Jarl when he spotted Felwinter in Court Mage’s quarters, boots propped up on the mage’s desk and Farengar looking like he couldn’t wait for the day to be over.

Lydia was there too, leaning against the back wall, visibly irritated and bored. She nodded in greeting to Moth. Moth gestured towards Felwinter and Farengar, wordlessly asking what they were arguing about this time.

Felwinter answered his question, “So you do know something about blood magic!”

“I know that it’s illegal!” Farengar shoved Felwinter’s boots off the desk, looking like he had already had to do it several times, “And that’s all I’m saying on the subject.”

Ever since the fight with Madanach, Felwinter had been a man obsessed. A form of powerful magic that even he was ignorant of? The thought burned him up inside. He _had_ to know more.

The gods seemed to conspire against him, however. Nearly every path he took towards finding out the truth came to a dead end. There were few books on blood magic at all, let alone on the practice and most of those were illegal to buy and trade. He had even sent a letter to his mother. Lady Delilah’s return letter came within a week. A single word. “ _No.”_

Instead of seeing it as an order to give up his little quest, Felwinter took the lack of written forbiddance as that while she refuses to simply hand over that kind of information, she won’t stop him. If the mother was anything like the son, it was exactly how Delilah meant it.

Now he was here, loudly and publicly pestering a man for incredibly illegal information who, unlike him, actually feared the law and didn’t just follow it when it suited him.

“But you admit you know it.” Felwinter stood and rounded Farengar’s desk, crowding the poor man, “Just tell me. What is it exactly?”

Farengar glared at him for a second before sighing defeatedly, “It’s not really its own type of magic like Destruction or Illusion. The only thing I know it does is that it bolsters the power of other spells.”

“I noticed that when Madanach nearly froze me over,” Felwinter said, “But how? That’s my question.”

“I thought the ‘blood’ part made it obvious. It draws upon your life energy, fusing it with your magicka and enhancing its potency.” Farengar’s tone progressively became quieter and his words halting. He was already saying too much.

Oblivious, Felwinter nodded excitedly, beckoning him to go on. But Farengar shook his head, “No! Enough! This conversation is over, Drakon! This isn’t the type of magic you should just be using. It’s dangerous!”

“Which is why I need to know about it, Farengar!” Felwinter’s eye flickered towards the corner, connecting with Moth for half a second, “That fight against Madanach…Farengar, I nearly lost. It’s only a matter of time before I get caught up in a fight like that again; I cannot be caught unaware!”

Farengar’s mouth opened and closed and his brow furrowed. Then with a sigh of resignation, he trudged over to his desk, took a quill out of the inkpot and furiously scribbled something down. He then folded the parchment and after some hesitation, handed it over to Felwinter. “The Ragged Flagon,” he muttered, “In Riften.”

Felwinter snatched the paper out of his hand with a massive grin on his face and clapped him hard on the back, hard enough to make the man pitch forward. Felwinter jogged out of Farengar’s quarters, waggling his brow at Moth as he passed.

“Moth?” He heard Farengar call him. He turned. “He’s going to get himself hurt,” Farengar said, “Might I suggest watching him?”

Moth grumbled deep in his throat and yelled Felwinter’s name, knowing he was still in the building. “Give us some time, Lydia.” She nodded and kicked off the wall, leaving Farengar’s little corner of Dragonsreach and Dragonsreach itself. Felwinter remained in the hall, waiting for Moth to catch up.

When he did, Moth jerked his head towards one of the wooden benches near the entrance. He sat down and Fel sat close to him, lacing his fingers together and staring at the opposite wall.

“Talk to me, my love,” he said roughly, ‘What’s going on inside your head?”

“Silence and crickets for the most part,” Felwinter snarked. Then he sighed, “But...the fight. It keeps playing in my head over and over. I need to find out how he did it.”

“You could afford to be a bit more discreet.”

“I guess.” Felwinter pulled out the note and read it again, “But I’ve got a lead now. I have to take it.”

Moth leaned back against the castle wall. His hand rose and fell onto Felwinter’s back, creeping up to rub against the back of his neck. “When will you be leaving?”

Fel laughed, “Same question. Every time.”

“I’d like to know how much time I have left with you. That’s all.”

Felwinter turned to look at him, eyes roving over his face. He looked tired. Moth had to practically drag him to bed every night and his sleep was fitful; plagued by nightmares. Felwinter had never handled even the idea of defeat well. He’d dwell over every mistake and obsess over every possible scenario that could’ve ended with his death. It was the same for weeks after Alduin and the events at Helgen still haunted him to this day.

“A month,” Moth offered when he said nothing, “Give it a month. Get some rest. Train with the Companions. Take the kids on that fishing trip you promised. _Actual_ fishing, not blowing it out of the water.”

“Good times.” Felwinter smiled brightly at him.

“You led a horde of angry mudcrabs into Solitude.”

“And everyone ate well, did they not?” Felwinter’s hand squeezed Moth’s knee. Moth’s hand went up and did the same to his neck, “A month. I can do that.”

Moth’s hand left the back of his neck and moved to his chin. “While you’re at it, you gonna do something about this beard?” He asked, pulling on the hair.

Felwinter waved his hand away, “I’m…thinking about it. Want something new.”

“As long as it’s not ridiculous.”

“Define ‘ridiculous’.”

“Probable whatever you’re thinking of at the moment.”

* * *

Felwinter sighed, staring up at the modest gates leading to Riften. In his haste to find answers, he had forgotten just what Riften was exactly.

Skyrim’s center of political corruption; his own little piece of High Rock away from home. As well as the home of the Thieves Guild, who despite lack of activity, probably still wanted his head.

In the lowering sun, a strong cool breeze forced its way through his cloak, sending it billowing slightly back. Taking it as his cue that the day wasn’t getting any younger, Felwinter strode up to the wooden gates and let the Legion Guards patrolling open it for him.

Riften has become oddly busy since the Empire had taken it over or more accurately, had been given it by Felwinter himself. A slightly higher presence of non Nords, for one. But only slightly. If one didn’t have business in Riften, one stayed away from Riften; an unspoken rule Felwinter followed faithfully.

Samuel and his wedding were really the only good things to come out of this place. Felwinter sighed again. He already needed a drink.

The Bee and Barb was as dank and creaky as he remembered it; smelling of despair and misery.

And fish. A lot of fish.

Felwinter dropped down at the bar, “Start a tab.”

The Argonian quickly pocketed the money, “What will it be?”

“Whatever will make me forget how to breath for the night,” Felwinter said, “I’ll need a room here too.” He dropped another handful of septims.

She took the money with a toothy smile, “Be right back.”

“I’ll have what he’s having, Keerava.” A very familiar voice said as a man sat next to him. Felwinter turned slowly and caught the sight of a flash of red hair. For the first time in days, Felwinter smiled. “Brynjolf?”

The Nord smiled back, “One and only, lad,” he said, “It’s good to see you again, Felwinter. How has life treated you?”

Fel shrugged, “Can’t complain.”

Two cups were put down in front of them. Brynjolf picked his own up, “Are you sure, Felwinter?”

“No. I’m lying. I can always complain.” Felwinter drained his tankard in one go, “But still, it’s pretty good. What brings you to Riften?”

Brynjolf signaled Keerava to refill their tankards, “I live and work here in Riften.”

“Right, right. You’re a businessman?”

“That’s right.” Brynjolf paused to finish his drink. Felwinter watched the muscles in his throat flex as he did. “Though I travel from time to time. Not as well traveled as you, I hear eh?”

Fel shrugged, “I get around.”

“Speaking of, your husband. How is he?”

Felwinter raised an eyebrow in mock offense, “We’re friendly, Brynjolf but I never realized we were _that_ friendly.”

“Shame.” Brynjolf smiled, “And here I was thinking we were _that_ friendly. Ah!” His hand went up to Felwinter’s arm when he lifted his drink to his face. Brynjolf slowly brought it back down, his hand lingering, “Take it easy, lad. I want to talk some more.”

Felwinter’s eyes shifted down to the hand and back up. Then he pushed his drink away. “Then talk.”

“I already did. You haven’t answered yet.”

“My husband is fine,” Felwinter answered, resuming his drinking, albeit slower. “In good health etc, etc. He knows about you, you know.”

Brynjolf’s red eyebrows rose, “Does he?”

“I tell him everything, of course.” Felwinter leaned in, “He likes to hear the stories and since my travels take me around, I can deliver.”

“And what stories do you get in return?” the Nord asked, “Doesn’t seem like he leaves home nearly as much.”

“He doesn’t but it’s not like he sits around waiting for me to come home. He has his own fun when he can.”

“I’m intrigued.”

Felwinter swirled his drink around. “There’s this server at the Whiterun inn. Saadia. Beautiful Redguard woman. First time I met her, she nearly stabbed me. Smooth dark brown skin. Legs that go on forever.” Felwinter lowered his voice with a lecherous smile, “An ass you could nap on.”

Brynjolf closed his eyes, “Mmh, keep talking. I’m starting to believe I was there.”

“The kids wanted a sleepover with the Jarl’s kids and Balgruuf made room for them in the palace. He and Saadia had become friends since they had met. She came over just to talk, one thing led to another and next thing he knows, they’re practically rolling on the floor.”

Brynjolf grunted and shifted in his seat, “Go on.”

“Pants getting tight?”

“ _Go on_ ,” he ordered again.

Felwinter cleared his throat. “Four times,” he said in a rough imitation of Moth’s voice, “Made her scream my name four times. Once on the floor. Once against the wall. Last two in bed.” He returned back to his normal tone, “Showed me his grip marks on the back edge of the headboard. The healing scratch marks in his back.” He leaned in closer, “Even saw the scratches in the wooden floor. Made by the legs of the bed when he let her get on top.” Felwinter leaned away and shrugged, “Ever since that day, Saadia’s has had a little pep in her step. Nice girl. She deserves to relax.”

Brynjolf hummed. Felwinter tried to remember the last time he saw the man blink; the odd, intense way he was leering at him. “The end.”

“Drakon,” Brynjolf nearly purred, “You almost sound jealous.”

“Nah. Maybe of his storytelling.” Felwinter took another short sip of his drink, “Saadia’s a wonderful girl and I wouldn’t mind if she wanted to. But there was always…a tension between them that isn’t there for me and her.” He shrugged, “At the very least, it makes a great story.”

Brynjolf hummed again. He hadn’t changed too much since they had last seen each other. Few new scars, probably remained unseen unless one stared at the man’s face as much as Felwinter was.

Finally finishing off his drink with a sigh, Brynjolf leaned close, “You wanna go upstairs? Make a better one?”

* * *

“You alright there, Brynjolf?” Felwinter huffed, leaning against the headboard.

Lying on his stomach, sheets just barely coming up to his muscular back, Brynjolf laughed, “I can barely feel my legs, lad. I think you stopped my heart a few times.” 

“And yet you kept going. Such a trooper.” Felwinter leaned down and kissed him deeply. Brynjolf’s arm snaked around his neck and brought him closer until they were chest to chest. After they pulled apart, Brynjolf rolled out of bed and started to search for his clothes in the darkness of the room. Felwinter was content to admire the display until he noticed a strange diamond shaped marking on his mid back.

Seconds passed before Felwinter connected the dots. When he did, he was out of bed in an instant, grabbing Brynjolf’s arm and pinning him face first against the wall.

“Do you usually seduce your targets?” Felwinter snarled, twisting the arm tighter, “Or am I special?”

Brynjolf’s eyes went wide with pain, “What in the name of the gods are you talking about? Get off me!”

He took Brynjolf’s tattooed arm from behind his back and slammed it against the wooden wall. “Explain this,” he said, digging his finger into the the tattoo.

“It’s just a fucking tattoo!”

“You’re lying!” Felwinter’s own markings flashed bright and he brought the assassin blade up to Brynjolf’s neck. Fear replaced pain in Brynjolf’s eyes. “It was you, wasn’t it? The thief from the meadery in Whiterun.”

“The meadery in White...Honningbrew?” he shifted again, “That was you?!”

“You’re Thieves Guild! How the fuck do you not know that?!”

Brynjolf laughed uneasily, “What can I say? I’m a fool for a man with big arms. Felwinter, listen,” He breathed out and Felwinter felt a slight pang of guilt. “Listen. I am Thieves Guild. It’s true our leader has been sending people after you-”

“You’re not helping yourself, Brynjolf!”

“But I have nothing to do with it, Felwinter!” He finished, “We have a strict code against killing. We’re not assassins! We...we shouldn’t be. I wanted nothing to do with Maven’s little revenge obsession. Most of us don’t, not even the man you fought with.”

Felwinter’s eyes moved over him and after a few seconds, he let him go. Brynjolf rubbed at his wrists while Felwinter crossed the room and sat down in a chair close to the door and hunched over, resting his forehead on his hands. “I believe you. And...I apologize for...all this,” he waved the dagger in the air before sending it away, “This wasn’t how I was planning all of this to go.”

Brynjolf, who had stayed on the opposite side of the room, drew closer and sat on the edge of the bed, “That dagger. Where did you get it?”

“A Dark Brotherhood assassin,” he answered, leaning back in his seat, “Astrid. Kidnapped me, attacked me, payed for it.”

“You killed her?”

“And all the others.”

“Even Arnbjorn?” he gaped.

“Currently rotting in the river outside Solitude.”

Brynjolf huffed, “Wow, that’s...wow.”

“Why is Maven Black-Briar so dead set on coming after me, Brynjolf?” Felwinter leaned forward again, “You would think I killed one of her children.”

“Well, you might as well have. Unknowingly or not, you crossed her. Badly, Felwinter,” he said, “Most people don’t live long enough to even regret it. And if she doesn’t outright kill them, she ruins their lives in every way possible.”

“And I thought the Silver-Bloods were bad.”

“She had both the Dark Brotherhood and the Thieves Guild in her pocket,” he continued, “Now with no assassins, she’s had to make due with us.”

“And some of you refuse?” Felwinter asked.

“A lot of the older members do.” Brynjolf slicked his fiery hair back. Felwinter would’ve found it endearing if what had just happened hadn’t. “It’s caused a bit of a schism between us all and now the Guild’s going downhill.”

“Could you explain the tattoos?” Fel gestured to Brynjolf’s arm, “Is it Thieves Guild tradition?”

“No, no.” he shook his head, “I joined around the same time as three others. We were friends beforehand.” Brynjolf’s eyes widened, “As a matter of fact, one of them was the one who went on the job for Black-Briar. The one you punched out.”

“Great. Wonderful. Fantastic.” Felwinter snatched his shirt up from where it had been thrown on the floor and quickly put it on. “I need to get out of Riften. Come back when it’s quieter.”

“Why are you here in the first place, Felwinter?” Brynjolf stood with him, concern drawn all over his features.

“I’m looking for a woman named Galathil.” He patted his pockets to make sure the parchment was still there.

“Galathil? The Bosmer mage?”

Felwinter paused in his dressing up and turned around.

Brynjolf nodded towards the door, “She stays in the Ragged Flagon.”

Felwinter moved closer, “I need to see her. How do I get there?”

“Settle-settle down, Felwinter,” Brynjolf put his hands up, “The Ragged Flagon is practically the main hub of the Guild. You can’t just waltz down there. You’re a wanted man!”

“Then go get her and bring her here!”

“I’m not doing that Felwinter. And keep your voice down!” Brynjolf seethed, “But…I might be able to help you.”

“Explain,” he demanded.

Brynjolf grabbed his coat and started strapping on the belts. “Get dressed. We’re going to the Flagon.”

“Why?”

“I’ll explain on the way, Felwinter. Just do it!”

* * *

“No.”

“Yes.”

“I refuse.”

“Can you think of a better way, Drakon?”

“…no.”

“Then yes.”

“No. Still no.”

Brynjolf pushed open an old wooden door and he sound it made had Felwinter contemplating if ripping his own teeth out was a good idea right now. The door led to a wide open area. Dimly lit from a grated opening in the ceiling and a large pool of water in the center.

“We’re here.” Brynjolf places his torch in one of the holders close to the door. Felwinter dispelled his Candlelight and followed Brynjolf to the center, pulling his cloak close.

The thief led him across a rickety wooden bridge, past a glowering Nordic man massive for even Nord standards. They stopped in the area across the water. This place was better lit.

And was occupied.

“Brynjolf, you Nordic bastard, welcome back!” A balding man in a black uniform rose his tankard in greeting, his back turned to them. Several others did the same, their eyes never leaving Felwinter. In the cold air, a drop of sweat ran down his back.

Brynjolf went over to the man, called “Delvin” and left Felwinter, who was putting all his energy into not freaking out and rampaging his way back to the surface. all alone. A blonde Imperial woman with the same uniform was glaring the hardest. “Who’s your friend, Brynjolf?” She asked in a harsh tone.

“Friend?” Delvin took a pull from his drink and finally turned around. The balding man’s eyes blew open and he doubled over, coughing as the drink went down the wrong way. “You! You’re him!”

Felwinter whined silently in his throat.

Brynjolf started slapping Delvin on the back, “Delvin, calm down. Big breaths friend.”

The woman’s eyes had never left him but her hand was on her dagger now. “Delvin, who is he?”

“He’s the one, Vex! The one I fought at the Honningbrew Meadery.”

“Is he now?” Vex drew her dagger. A few others stood up. Magic started to coalesce in Felwinter’s hand, hidden by the cloak.

“Hey, hey! Let’s all settle down, eh?” Brynjolf put himself between Felwinter and the thieves.

“Maven’s been looking for him, Brynjolf,” Vex said, pointing the dagger at him.

“I realize that but it’s why he’s here,” he pointed out, “He…deeply regrets his actions and wishes to make it up to Maven and us.”

Felwinter smiled brightly, looking less comforting and more like a dragon baring his teeth at a threat.

“He wants to…” Vex laughed, “Okay, Brynjolf. Alright. You have fun.” She sheathed her weapon and went back to leaning against the crates.

“Felwinter, if you’ll follow me.” Brynjolf started towards an opening in the back.

“I think that went well,” Brynjolf whispered when they had gotten far enough.

“I almost killed everyone in that room, Brynjolf,” Felwinter said.

Brynjolf paused, “That’s…dark, Felwinter. Do you always joke like that?”

Felwinter blinked. “Yes.”

“Well then you’ll fit right in.” Brynjolf led him into the Cistern, crawling with people wearing similar uniforms. Even more eyes were on him now.

“Brynjolf! You’re late!”

They both turned at the sound of his name. A short man trudged up to them, armed with a large bronze sword and a shockingly acidic glare. Felwinter wondered which one he usually used to kill.

“Apologies, Mercer. I was held up.” He gestured towards Felwinter, “This is Felwinter Drak-”

“I know who he is,” Mercer cut off, “Why is the fabled Dragonborn here, what I want to know.”

“He’s also the one who botched Delvin’s job at the Meadery in Whiterun Hold,” Brynjolf finished with a slight edge of irritation, “He’d like to make up for it by joining us.”

Mercer looked him up and down. Then he said, “You might as well have taken him to Maven. That’s where he’s about to go anyway.”

“Mercer, listen-“

Mercer ignored him. The Guild master let out a short whistle and gestured at Felwinter. Two of the thieves drew weapons and started to move in.

Felwinter sighed. “Well, I tried.” Four violet spheres of light bloomed out at around him. Four Dremora Lords appeared at four points surrounding him. The thieves hesitated. Even Mercer stopped in his tracks.

“Felwinter, no!” Brynjolf moved between them. “Mercer, listen. It’s like you said. He’s the Dragonborn! Imagine what we could do with him at our disposal? Come on, think about this.”

Mercer’s roved over Felwinter once again, pausing at the strange look in Felwinter’s eyes. “Stand down!” He ordered. The thieves almost looked grateful for it. Mercer Frey’s lips suddenly curled upward in a malevolent mockery of a smile. “Find him an outfit and show him the ropes. Then I want him caught up to speed on the Honningbrew meadery job.”

Brynjolf nodded, obviously relieved, “Yes, Mercer Frey.”

“Have it done within the week,” Frey ordered, starting to walk away, “And get these Daedra out of my Cistern, mage!” he yelled at Felwinter. Grudgingly, the Dragonborn obliged and the Dremora fell one by one.

* * *

“There you are, lad.” Brynjolf hopped off the barrel, “Well? How does it feel?”

Felwinter windmilled his arms and shook both legs out, “Bit tight around the ass. Also color leaves a lot to be desired.” Felwinter nodded at him, “Where do I get one like that?”

“You become a senior member,” Brynjolf said after looking down at his own clothing.

“Really? Huh....I might just stick around then.” Felwinter followed Brynjolf back out into the Ragged Flagon. Vex had moved to a table, seated opposite a Redguard woman. Delvin was at the bar. When the two appeared, Delvin turned to them, a new drink in his hand. “So, he’s in?” Vex asked from her spot at the table.

“He’s in.”

Delvin slapped the bar with a gloved hand and stood up, revealing a second tankard in his other palm. “Then welcome to the family, son!” He shoved the drink into Felwinter’s chest, bumped his on tankard against it and drank deeply.

“You’re not...you know….” Fel ducked his head slightly, “Pissed?”

“Nah, I got over it long ago. Besides.” He shrugged, “Been a long time since I found someone who could throw a decent punch. Good on ya, Redguard.”

“Breton.”

“Wha?”

“My mother’s Breton.”

“Ya don’t say?” Delvin pulled a seat at the nearest table out with his foot and sat down, never taking his eyes off Felwinter, “What region?”

“Stormhaven.” Felwinter sat opposite of him.

“Ha!” The older man slapped the table again with a laugh, “Ol’ Stormhaven! Home sweet home.” He hunched over and pointed his finger at Felwinter, “You and me are gonna get along great, kid.”

Felwinter leaned back and felt Brynjolf lean down beside his ear, “Come get me when you’re ready to go.”

* * *

“Felwinter?”

The big man nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned suddenly to see the confused and sleep ridden look Moth was giving him.

“What…” his eyes moved up and down, “Are you wearing?”

“I...promise you won’t be mad.”

“If that’s what I think it is then too late, Felwinter, now answer me.”

Fel picked at the rough brown leather, “It’s…a Thieves Guild uniform. I joined the Thieves Guild……surprise?” He finished weakly.

“You joined the…” for the first time since they met, Moth looked genuinely dumbfounded, “You were supposed to go pick up some books! How in Malacath’s name did this happen?!”

“Technically it was a book on illegal magic-“

“Felwinter!!!”

“Alright, alright!” Felwinter jerked his head towards the table. Moth followed him to take a seat. “A while back, I accidentally ruined one of their major jobs.”

“What job?”

“Maven Black Briar. She basically has the Thieves Guild in her pocket and she’s been using them to further her business schemes. Short answer is, she wanted Honningbrew Meadery. It’s been acting as thorn in her side for sometime. I stumbled across the thief on the job. He attacked me to keep me quiet and I…knocked him out.” Felwinter slowly started to look guiltier, “Ever since, she’s been after me. Pretty sure she’s responsible for some of the Dark Brotherhood contracts on my life. When I disabled them, she started sending the thieves to harass me.”

Moth frowned, “Haven’t seen anyone before.”

He shrugged, “She might have pulled them back when I got her the position of Jarl, I don’t know.”

“That doesn’t explain,” Moth waved his arm at him, “All of this!”

“I joined up so I could do the job I messed up,” he said, “They wouldn’t let me otherwise.”

Moth stared at him for a long time. Felwinter shifted uncomfortably in place. “I know how you feel about thieves. Probably worse than you feel about mages…”

“Felwinter…”

“But this was the best I could think to do in so short a time.”

Moth rubbed his eyes and sighed, “What does Maven and the Guild want?”

“I’ll have to get in, poison the mead he plans on serving to the captain and get out,” he said casually, “And no, I’m not killing the captain. Just enough to make him a little sick.”

The Orsimer growled deep in his throat, “I don’t like this.”

Felwinter came up behind him, pressing against Moth’s back and agreed. “Neither do I.”

“You’ve done a lot of crap, Felwinter,” Moth went on, instinctively leaning back, “But you never deliberately hurt innocents. Never.”

Felwinter moved back and began to prepare. choosing to stock only a few paralysis and invisibility potions. “I’ll be honest, I thought about pulling a ‘Dark Brotherhood’ again,” he admitted, “But I talked to them. They’re all people just trying to get by. They’ve got a strict policy against killing; something Black-Briar and their Guild Master is all too happy to go against.”

“You talked to them?”

“Most of them,” Felwinter said, “Mostly one. A Breton named Delvin.” He laughed, “He’s the one I knocked out. Called me a Redguard. Told him I was Breton too. Then he called me brother.”

“Did he now?”

“That’s never happened before Moth,” Felwinter said, “All my life, I’ve been forced to identify with the culture and race of a man who couldn’t even be bothered to be around. Staying in Hammerfell for a while helped me come to terms with it but...it was nice; to be a Breton to another Breton. It was.”

“They...they sound like good people,” Moth admitted. Albeit grudgingly.

“Moth saying nice things about thieves?” Felwinter teased.

“You’ve made me soft.”

“Have I?”

“I’m raising two mages and I’m married to a mage and now a professional thief,” he answered, “Back in Orsinium, this would have been completely alien to me. But now? I find I don’t mind.” Moth’s hand traced up Felwinter’s arm and his fingers dug into the neck of his outfit, pulling the chain that held their wedding bond free to dangle down from Felwinter’s neck, “Seems you bring out the worst in me.”

* * *

“Uh, gods above this was a bad idea.” Felwinter ripped his sword from the mage’s body and nearly retched at the smell the corpse was giving off.

He had met Mallus Maccius in the Bannered Mare, right where he had said he would be. As per orders, he was to convince Sabjorn that he was here to take care of the skeever problem. Kill them all and poison their nests to keep them from coming back. And as per orders, he was to let a little slip into the main vat of Honningbrew mead.

Sabjorn, desperate to impress an incoming VIP, had taken the bait readily enough, handing over the key to the basement. Now here Felwinter was, surrounded by the dead and chopped up skeever rats and the corpse of a man with enough mental acuity to perform powerful feats of magic but not enough to realize that he was living underground with disease ridden rats or actually bathe. Felwinter stared at Zazikel for an inordinate amount of time, trying to convince himself that the brown streaks on his sword was mud. _Just_ mud.

For Maven. All for Maven.

Fel took in a shuddering breath and got to poisoning the nests, almost losing his dinner completely at the horrendous smell. While he was sure all the rats and random mages hiding in the nests had been killed, Felwinter moved slowly between each to avoid startling anything; as well as to put off the inevitable.

But it all came to an end. Spotting the door leading into the boiler room, Felwinter checked what was left of his poison supply and opened the door.

The place was hot. Felwinter had expected it to be as much but he didn’t expect to start sweating almost immediately. He resisted the urge to open up the outer layer of the thick leather clothing. It was the Alik’r Desert all over again.

Felwinter trudged to the back and walked up the short flight of stairs, standing on a platform overlooking the bubbling vats. As Maccius had instructed, he picked the one closest to the exit door, as that’s where Sabjorn would get the mead to give to the captain. He wrenched open the lid and reeled back slightly at the plume of steam that erupted into his face. Then he pulled open the cork of the bottle and…

He couldn’t do it.

Why can’t he do it?

He had poisoned people before. Plenty of times. Blades and arrows laced with them, shot or stabbed into the nearest bandit or forsworn hunting for his head, followed by a quick escape while the victim either slowly dropped dead and put all the others into a panic or went bezerk and wiped out half their crew. But the person being poisoned wasn’t attacking him. He wasn’t even necessarily unlikeable.

But how long was this cat and mouse game going to go on between him and the Thieves Guild? They were still bent on making him pay for what he had done or at least Maven and Mercer were and while he would be under their thumbs, he’d be untouchable. Or at least his family would.

And as much as he wanted to reconsider just wiping them out, they weren’t the Dark Brotherhood; killing without regard for innocence or lives ruined for coin/ They weren’t Madanach and his army; threatening innocents in the name of their liberty, whether he had right to the land or not. They really were good people, for the most part, just trying to get by.

“I’ll figure something out,” he muttered as he finally poured the contents of the bottle into the vat, “This...this will not last.”

* * *

“Hey!” A hand shook Felwinter awake. ‘We’re here,” the carriage driver said before walking back over to his seat.

Felwinter hopped out of the carriage, landing heavily on his feet. Once again, Riften towered before him. An irritated growl slipped from his throat before he could stop it. He passed through the open gates and made straight for Mistveil Keep where Brynjolf would meet him.

And where Maven was waiting for him.

Brynjolf stood by the outer gate, in full Guild armor. Maven owned them and everyone knew it. There was no reason to hide it. Without a word, he led Felwinter up the stairs and stopped at the door. “You ready, lad?”

“Let’s get this over with.”

Brynjolf pushed them open. The last time he walked through these doors was before the peace meeting at High Hrothgar. Not much had changed since then except the person who owned the seat.

And there she sat. Maven Black-Briar, with her intimidating glares and imperious presence. She sat as if the throne had always been hers. As much as he hated to admit it, it really did suit her.

“Clear the room,” she ordered quietly and easily. People tripped over themselves to obey. “Brynjolf,” she acknowledged him, “You are welcome. Who is your friend?”

Brynjolf took a knee. After a second, Felwinter did the same. “My Jarl, this is Felwinter Drakon.”

Her gaze shifted to him. “The Dragonborn. As well as the Arch-Mage and Harbinger. Welcome,” she greeted with the same air of coolness. “What business do you have here in my court?”

Both men rose. “Felwinter has joined the Thieves Guild,” Brynjolf answered for the both of them, “He was the one who interfered with Honningbrew job before.”

“Is he now?” Her volume rose slightly, the only hint of anger.

“Yes, ma’am. But he has since joined the Guild and in doing so, voluntarily took on the job.” He gestured to Felwinter to step forward. When he did, her bear of a housecarl moved between them. Felwinter silently retook a knee and pulled the deed to the meadery and a note from Sabjorn’s investor from the pocket in his coat. He offered it to the housecarl who took it and handed it to Maven.

She opened it and her eyes scanned the paper for a few seconds. “Got tired of watching your back, did you?” she asked, one eyebrow raised as she handed the paper back to her housecarl.

Fel cleared his throat. “I deeply regret my actions beforehand,” he said, his eyes still at the ground, “I never meant to interfere with your business.”

“It doesn’t matter what you meant, Drakon,” she said sharply, “It matters that you did.”

“Again, you have my... _sincerest_ apologies.”

“Keep them,” she waved a hand dismissively, “This deed is all I need. And Sabjorn?”

“Sabjorn was arrested. They will likely find that the Captain’s sickness was an accident and he will be let go but run out of Whiterun.”

“I can deal with that.” She turned to Brynjolf, “It seems you finally found someone worth my time, Brynjolf. Well done.”

“Thank you, my Jarl.”

“Anything else?” she asked.

Felwinter rose to his feet. “The property, Honeyside. Is it still available?”

“Last I checked, yes. Why?”

“I’d like to purchase it,” he answered, minding the edge growing in his voice, “My work takes me all over. I’d prefer to have a permanent settlement if I am to work here.”

She looked him up and down. “I don’t see why not. If you have the payment, you can give it to my stewart. He’ll give you the keys and you can discuss furnishings and renovations with him.”

“Thank you, my Jarl.”

“And Drakon?” she called just before he could turn and be off, “I suggest you be around within the next week as I have more jobs for you to do.” For the first time, she smiled, “The Dragonborn as my own personal errand boy. I think I might enjoy this.” She waved her hand again, “Dismissed.”

Felwinter stood stone still, gaze averted downward so that she wouldn’t see his eyes. Brynjolf put a hand to his shoulder and led him out. They waited in silence for nearly twenty minutes before the Maven’s stewart came out with the deed. Felwinter took it, signed and tossed him the money needed to purchase the house as well as all the renovations. He pocketed the key and before he could be done with Riften, Brynjolf spoke up. “Come on, lad,” he said softly, “Let’s get you a drink. And after, I’ll take you to meet Galathil.”

* * *

“Galathil?” Brynjolf called. The mage raised her head from a book thicker than Felwinter’s wrist, “This is Felwinter.”

She slammed the book shut, “Another customer, I take it?” she asked excitedly.

Felwinter blinked, “I...what?”

“Do you not know who I am?!” she seemed entirely offended, “I am the face sculptor! I take the faces of my clients and...remake them into something more artful than nature bestowed upon them. I once practiced my art in the salons and manors of Tamriel's great and good. Now, the scum of Skyrim are my only clients.”

“Hurtful, Galathil!” Delvin yelled from the back.

“No matter. The greatest artists are never recognized in their own time,” she sniffed, “So...shall I remake your face?”

“I...no,” he said, “I was just directed to you because I was told you know something about blood magic.”

“Oh,” she sniffed again, “Well, it is not like I am doing anything else worth my time. Ask your questions.”

“I...really? That easy?”

“There a problem?”

“No! No, it's just that...I don’t know, I expected some resistance,” Felwinter admitted, ducking his head slightly, “It hasn’t been easy getting here. I’ll pay you for your time.”

The corner of her lip quirked, “I like this one, Brynjolf.”

“Felwinter,” the Nord called, gesturing Felwinter to come closer. “You remember what Maven said?”

Felwinter glowered, “Yeah, I remember.”

“Good. Be here on time and ready for...whatever she might have in store for you.” He sighed, “I know this isn’t ideal, Felwinter but it worked, did it not?”

“I guess.”

“I’ll see you when I can. I have to get back to work. And Felwinter.” Brynjolf leaned closer, “Next time, you’re around, find me.” He smiled and started to walk away, “And...bring Moth. I’d be interested in meeting him.”

Felwinter barely had time to react to the proposition before Galathil was demanding he come back. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face while he did. “Are you ready?” she snapped.

Remembering Moth’s words, Felwinter ran his hand through his hair, “About the face changing. Well, I don’t want to change my face but...do you do hair?”


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vampires attack and Felwinter takes it about as well as you’d expect. Beginning of the Dawnguard arc

 

“Felwinter,” Eorlund grumbled just barely over the sound of his striking hammer, “He’s not yet returned?”

“No,” was all Moth replied. He stood away from the Skyforge, positioned above and looking over Jorrvaskr’s training grounds, where his children trained.

“Strange.” Moth heard the familiar sound of hot metal submerged in water, “He’s usually much quicker than this,” Eorlund said.

“Business at the College was all the letter said,” Moth said bluntly, just how Eorlund preferred, “He will be back when he gets back.”

“Most people show a little bit more concern for their spouses.”

“Most people aren’t married to a one man siege.”

For the first time in what was probably weeks, Eorlund laughed. “I will give you that.”

“Hit harder, Samuel!” Moth yelled, his voice resonating down below. The boy tightened up, remembering that he was being watched.

“They’re learning how to fight,” Eorlund said, coming to stand next to him, “What do you think of their prospects?”

Moth had asked Felwinter the same question just a month prior. He was all too happy to display the hole Samuel burned through his clothing.

“The boy is strong in magic; better at it than with a sword,” he said, watching Samuel falter to a charging Farkas once again, “Lucia seems to be the better fighter.”

“You’re teaching them magic?” The old man asked, eyebrow raised.

“It’s a tool. Like a sword or hammer,” Moth frowned. Malacath’s balls, he sounded like Felwinter.

“Mages can set a house on fire on a whim.”

“So can a dedicated idiot with matches and enough chicken grease,” he shot back.

Eorlund barked out a harsh laugh, “So I guess Felwinter is their tutor in that area?”

“He teaches the science. I teach the ethics.”

“Huh?”

“He teaches the ‘can you’; I teach the ‘should you’.”

“Ah.” Eorlund struck hot metal once more and paused, “Felwinter’s the dedicated idiot, isn’t he?”

Moth closed his eyes and sighed wearily, “He just wanted to see if he could do it. Building was set for demolition anyway.”

“Is that also how Heimskr’s place keeps catching fire?”

“I wouldn’t know. Accidents happen,” he intoned like he was a bard reading from a script.

“Of course.”

“Samuel! Lucia!” Moth yelled from his post, “You’re done.” Samuel fell to the ground with a dramatic, exaggerated groan. Farkas snorted audibly. He really was his father’s son.

“Put the weapons back and and go.” He waved his hand to signal their dismissal. Farkas found himself swarmed with children all but throwing their weapons at him. Moth watched them take off, a hint of fondness when they smiled at him in passing. He stepped forward, sitting down on the rock he had been perched on with a small groan of discomfort at the twinge in his knee; an old injury.

He fell into a comfortable quiet; staring out into the distance, listening to the blacksmith working behind him, the warriors training below him, the people of the city. For the first time, he found himself truly missing Felwinter; sharing moments like these with him where they would just sit with each other in silence, save for the occasional unfiltered thought flying from his mouth.

Then the sound of heavy footsteps broke his peace, originating from Dragonsreach; armored feet running.

He turned, “What-” an explosion rocked the City. Thick plumes of smoke rose up into the air, originating from the entrance.

Then a child screamed and Moth’s blood froze over.

He leapt from Skyforge’s perch, rolling as he hit hard stone. Ignoring the discomfort that had grown to full blown pain, he sprinted and shoved past panicked citizens and guards, making it to the town’s center.

It was a large group, fully armed and armored. A mix of Men and Mer, all seemingly united in one goal; slaughter everyone in the city.

Lucia and Samuel were nowhere in sight.

Moth ducked just in time to avoid two spears of ice hurtling towards his head. Moth was tackled to the ground by one of the assailants, just barely grabbing his opponent’s wrist in time to stop him from plunging a dagger into Moth’s throat.

There he got a good look at him and fear threatened to overwhelm him.

Deathly pale skin, dark gold eyes and an overwhelming sense of dread and rot and wrong.

Vampires.

Attacking in broad daylight.

Spit dribbled from the man’s fangs as he tried to force the dagger down and Moth desperately turned away to avoid it getting into his eyes or mouth. Positioning his fingers as quickly and surreptitiously as he could, Moth squeezed the vampire’s wrist until the bone gave way with an audible snap. As the assailant reeled back in pain, Moth got his feet under the vampire and kicked him hard enough to send him flying backwards into the air. The Orsimer scrambled to his feet, ran over and delivered a punishing kick to the soft part of the man’s stomach to keep him down. Then he brought his foot over to the vampire’s neck and stomped down, silencing the abomination.

The attackers were pouring through the gates now and by the looks of it, they were all vampires. Left and right, guards were being ganged up on and struck down. Moth saw Amren snap the shaft of an arrow lodged in his shoulder and continue running towards Dragonsreach with a terrified, stunned Braith in his arms. A vampire attempted to give chase only to meet the business end of Adrienne and Ulfberth’s weapons.

“Papa!” Moth turned around, his heart singing in relief despite the chaos. Both Samuel and Lucia were running at him with Lydia close behind, sword and shield drawn and ready.

He caught Samuel first, lifting him into his arms. “Lydia! We need to get to Dragonsreach!”

Her eyes flicked from his to behind him. “Get back!” she yelled, moving around him and bringing up her shield. The vampire’s blade bounced off of it and Lydia used the recoil to run him through. Lucia screamed again, the sound drowned out by footsteps running closer.

“Lydia!” Moth yelled again over the chaos and panic, “Take the kids to Dragonsreach.”

“Me?! What about you?!”

“I’ll keep them off your back!” The look on her face said she was contemplating just throwing him over her shoulder. “Lydia, the children are always priority! Go!!!”

She stared for only a second before she sheathed her sword, grabbed both of them in one hand and fled for Dragonsreach. He ignored his children crying his name.

“Moth!” He turned in time to see Vilkas toss him a sword. Grabbing it out of the air by the handle, Moth quickly and viciously struck down the nearest vampire, splattering her diseased blood all over. On the rooftop, Aela was loosing arrow after arrow, aiming for heads and hearts.

“Where’s Farkas?” Moth asked when Vilkas had gotten close.

“Protecting Dragonsreach with the others,” Vilkas huffed, drawing his own weapon, “Shit time for Felwinter to be late. Did they plan this?”

“If they did, it’s going to fail.” Moth kicked over one of the vampire corpses and took up her weapon, now having a blade in each hand. Together, he and Vilkas ran into the crowd, running a vampire through from behind before he could finish off the guard he had pinned to the ground. As the downed guard scrambled to his feet, Moth could hear another vampire running at him, yelling with fury. Moth turned and widened his stance, preparing himself to meet him.

Then, without warning, a deep black shadow blotted out the sun. Just as quickly as it came, it was gone and the vampire had disappeared with it.

A dragon, crimson as spilled blood, held the vampire in its massive claws, carrying him high into the air before letting him return to the ground on his own, landing on the hard stone building with a resounding crash. The dragon adjusted its flight to bring itself back over Whiterun. It perched atop the remains of the city gate and let out a roar that would have deafened Moth were he even the smallest bit closer.

“Moth.” Aela slowly came up behind him, leaving her post on the room. Her arrow still nocked and ready, eyes never leaving the beast on the walls, even as it ignored her in favor of the vampires. “The dragon. Am I the only one who thinks we’ve seen it before?”

Moth stared at the dragon. The dragon paused in its Shouting to stare right back.

Under its feet was Felwinter, stomping through Whiterun’s ruined wooden gates; bloodied Dawnbreaker clutched in one hand, the struggling body of a vampire being dragged behind him in the other. Raising Dawnbreaker up by its hilt with the blade point downward, a pulse of bright light blasted outward. Every single vampire froze in their tracks and turned towards the source.

Without a word, Felwinter hefted the struggling vampire up and wrapped his arm around his neck, hand over his mouth. A single bolt of electricity was the only warning they got before the vampire in his arm exploded in a brilliant display of lightning; thrashing violently, screams muffled by Felwinter’s hand.

Felwinter never broke eye contact with the crowd. Never even blinked. The vampire’s smoking eyes rolled up into the back of his head and Felwinter let him go, letting him unceremoniously drop to the ground. Behind him, Vilkas cursed at the display. Moth could’ve swore he heard Odahviing chuckle under his breath, still perched above their heads like the shadow of death.

Felwinter opened his mouth, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Good,” he said, a tiny smirk gracing his lips, “Now that I’ve got everyone’s attention…YOL TOOR SHUUUULLL!!!!” A spear of fire lanced out from Felwinter’s mouth, the intense heat and the bright light felt from a distance.

This time, it was the attackers’ turn to scream and they did, either in fury, panic or pain as Felwinter’s fire enveloped them.

Odahviing took off into the air again, swooping down only to grab two vampires in his deadly jaw and take them with him.

Down on the ground, Felwinter suddenly bolted through the wall of flame he had created, running one of the vampires through with Dawnbreaker. Faster than any of them could register, he ripped it out and buried it in the skull of another vampire, whose body suddenly exploded in a blast of light, setting other undead assailants on fire.

“Aela! Vilkas! Get back to Dragonsreach!” Moth ordered, starting in Felwinter’s direction.

“Are you mad! Do you see how many of them are still here?!”

“He and I can handle them,” Moth silenced his arguments, “Our families, the citizens are priority. Go! Reinforce them!”

Aela ran off first. Vilkas took a few hesitant steps backwards before following. Moth ran back towards Felwinter, charging a vampire, running her through with his blade and knocking her to the ground. He stood and jerked to the side just barely in time to avoid a spear of ice aimed point blank at his skull, throwing his sword arm upwards on instinct and dismembering his opponent before cutting them down.

Still they kept coming. All of the guardsmen who had stayed behind were on the ground, dead or bleeding out. Moth only just started noticing when he was facing the same person a second or a third time, the vampires raising and weaponizing the bodies of their comrades. He was revolted to no end.

Moth brought up his weapon to parry an incoming attack. The blades locked together and both fighters pushed, both trying to overpower the other with Moth obviously having the advantage. Leaning in close, Moth sent a knee into the vampire’s stomach, taking advantage of the distraction to push him away. The Orsimer stepped forward to finish him off and he could see the quick decision the vampire’s eyes to switch from strength to focusing on speed.

Moth brought the blade down from overhead. The vampire twisted out of the way and Moth struck nothing but air. Slipping under Moth’s arms with blade raised, he drove in and Moth went deathly still.  
  
There was no pain. None at all. Just the foreign and disturbing pressure of something being where it wasn’t supposed to be.

But when the shock finally died down, the pain still had no room to enter. His mind was already filling with something else.

Red washed over the world in Moth’s vision. The gum of his thick sharp tusks practically hummed with the need to sink into flesh and bite down until the flesh stopped moving. He grabbed the still close vampire's head in his hands and threw his own head forward, ramming him in his face at full strength. Then he did it again. A second time. A third. A fourth until the vampire was choking on the blood of his crushed nose; his face already beyond recognition.

Then faster than any eye could see, Moth swung his fist at his opponent’s battered face, the head and neck twisting at a horrifying angle on impact.

Moth still felt nothing. Not when he ripped the blade from his gut and struck the nearest attacker hard enough to shatter it. Not when he charged, roaring further into the fray; striking one vampire hard enough in the ribs to cave it in and striking another hard enough send the contents of her skull spewing into the midday sun, audibly snapping two of his own fingers and not even when two lightning bolts smashed into him; doing little but stagger him.

The stagger was all the vampire mage needed. He dashed forward, past Moth’s deadly hands, moved in close and sank his fangs into Moth’s throat.

It was then. It was then the pain set in.

Moth’s hands shakily went to the vampire’s shoulders, pushing weakly against him. The red in his sight slowly faded away and the world became crystal clear.

He looked at Felwinter and time had all but stopped. His husband was staring at him, eyes and mouth wide open with a level of shock and horror that Moth had never before seen in a person before. Despite everything, Moth felt a slight annoyance. The remaining vampires bearing down on him and Felwinter gets distracted. He shouldn’t be surprised.

They were going to hurt him. He couldn’t let them.

Strength flowed back into Moth’s arms. He lifted them, putting his hands on both sides of the vampires still clamped mouth. Then he pulled, slowly forcing the fangs out of his neck. And he kept pulling, slowly forcing the bottom half of his jaw away from the rest of his head.

The vampire screamed in pain, arms thrashing and clawing at Moth violently. Still Moth pulled, muscles singing. He pulled until he could almost feel the skin and bones in the vampire’s jaw give away. Pulled until the man’s mouth no longer resisted.

His arms fell and his hands opened, the lower half of a vampire’s jaw falling from one hand, bloody tattered skin and splintered bone. The rest of him falling from the other.

Time had barely passed. Felwinter was slowly turning towards him, still ignoring the vampires coming at him. Moth took a step forward and felt his knees give way. He felt a river of warmth gushing from his neck and down his clothing.

Felwinter’s eyes blew open wider as Moth slowly pitched forward. The world grew dimmer, fainter.

The last thing Moth heard in the roaring silence was his name being screamed.

Then an explosion that shook the world.

* * *

  
Irileth pushed through the crowd of guards at Dragonsreach’s entrance, “Report!”

“It’s gotten quiet,” one guard answered immediately, “After the second explosion, we stopped hearing anything.”

“And that Dragon?”

“Out of the city. It seems to have flown away.”

“Irileth!” Aela pushed past the crowd, “That Dragon. It was the one the Harbinger had captured before.”

“Yes I noticed that.” So Felwinter had arrived in the nick of time. But then why haven’t they seen him yet? What had caused that explosion? And why was it so quiet.

Swallowing her dread, the Dunmer turned her attention back to the men, “I need five of you to come with me! Farkas and Aela, you’re coming too. Commander Caius,” she called, drawing the Imperial’s attention away from his guards, “If I don’t send out the all clear signal in ten minutes, seal Dragonsreach completely.”

She drew her weapon and took off down the stairs into the city without waiting for his response. She could hear the others she had ordered stomping after her, trying to catch up. They slowed in their run before reaching the center. Farkas moved up to the front, drawing his massive blade and taking point with Irileth. Then did they slowly round the corner to face the entrance.

Various paths to various gods were made. Even Irileth, who had seen war time after time, had to force her own shock and revulsion back down.

Body parts were strewn everywhere. Everything from fingers to legs to heads and torsos were charred black and already dissolving into dust. Smoking ash covered the streets, the plants, even the buildings and homes.

At the center of the ring of ash was Felwinter, staring off into nothing, tightly clutching a bloodied Moth in his arms. Moth’s belly rose and fell weakly. He was unconscious and just barely breathing.

Irileth quickly raised her hand and sent a gout of fire into the air, signaling the all clear.  
Still she kept her distance. The Dragonborn looked even more unhinged and unstable than she had ever seen him. Felwinter didn’t even seem to register that they were there. A sudden, unexpected move and they could end up just like the vampires.

Vocalizations of shock and surprise caused her to tear her attention away from the Dragonborn. Caius and a group of others had seen her signal and come down from the castle.

Danica pushed through the guards, holding the skirt of her robes up and running towards Felwinter and Moth, ignoring the look in his eye. She kneeled before the both of them and looked over Moth. Felwinter barely responded to her as she looked over him to.

Irileth moved closer, “Danica, is Moth-”

“Alive,” she answered quickly, “Badly injured but alive. He lost quite a bit of blood, through a neck wound judging by this mark. But it seems it was closed up.” Only then did she look up at Felwinter. “Felwinter?” She said. She grabbed his bearded chin and gently turned his head towards her, “Moth will live. He’s a strong man. You did well.”

Felwinter blinked. Probably what was for the first time. The only form of acknowledgement they received. “Danica, what’s wrong with him? Why isn’t he moving?”

“He’s having a panic attack,” she said, moving back, “We need to move both of them. I have to tend to Moth’s injuries and Felwinter needs to calm down. Farkas?”

The big Nord was already moving in. Danica gently unraveled Felwinter’s arms and moved them away to let Farkas lift Moth up and quickly carry him back to the temple.

“Irileth,” she heard Caius walk up, “What…happened here?”

She jerked her chin at Felwinter, who was being helped up to his feet by Aela and one of the guardsmen. “He happened.”

Something akin to fear flashed the Commander’s eyes. But it was gone as soon as it came. “We’ll…clean up here. Tell the Jarl the dead count at six guards and no civilians.”

She nodded, “I will, Commander.” She was just about to start making her way up to Dragonsreach when something stopped her.

She went back over to where Felwinter had been and kneeled down, examining a small pool of blood. After ensuring herself it didn’t belong to any of the vampires, she extended two fingers, reaching down to touch it.

She didn’t need to. From the tiny distance between her fingers and the blood, she could feel it vibrating the air; humming with power.

She looked back at Felwinter, who was just then disappearing with Aela and the guardsman up the stairs and made the decision to keep what she had seen to herself.

* * *

Moth’s eyes fluttered open, the afternoon sun shining through the ceiling to greet him. Had he really slept that long into the day? He was sure he had-

The memories came rushing back. His entire body tensed and pain coursed through every part of him.

“Shh, it’s alright Moth.” That was Danica’s voice. This was the temple and she was healing him.

“Felwinter,” he groaned, trying to sit up again.

“He’s fine. He’s right here.” Moth craned his neck to see Felwinter at his feet, a wool blanket on his shoulders. He was staring straight ahead, fist squeezed like a vice.

“Felwinter.” The man blinked slowly and turned his head to face him. Danica pulled her hands back and left to attend to other patients.

Fel took her place, kneeling at his bed side. Moth painfully brought up his unsplintered hand and Felwinter took it in both of his and nuzzled it against his cheek.

“How do you feel?” Felwinter’s voice croaked like it was the first time he had spoken in hours.

“In pain. A lot of it,” he admitted, feeling the tight bandages around his torso and neck, “But I’m alive. That’s what matters.”

Felwinter’s eyes squeezed shut. “I saw you go down. I saw that monster…I thought he-”

“But he didn’t,” Moth cut him off. Once he started spiraling, he was hard to stop.

“I love you.” Felwinter pressed his forehead to Moth’s, “I was scared I’d never get to tell you that again.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Moth murmured, tracing his thumb over the wetness in the man’s eye. “Have you seen the kids yet?”

“Danica wouldn’t let me leave until I calmed down,” he answered, “I’m good now. Either way, she’s too distracted. I’ll slip-”

“Thane Felwinter?” A rather young and harried looking guard, “The Jarl requests your presence in Dragonsreach.”

“Is it urgent?” He asked, “I haven’t seen my children yet.”

“Lucia and Samuel are with him, sir.”

Felwinter rubbed his chin, “Tell him I’m on my way.” The guard nodded once and hurried off. Felwinter leaned down and kissed Moth, “I’ll be back.”

The Orc smiled, “Not going anywhere.” He kept the smile until Felwinter disappeared. When he did, he brought his hand up to his bandages neck and rubbed, internally shuddering at the close call.

* * *

“Papa!!” Both children tore themselves from Adrienne and leapt at Felwinter, who caught them and held them both close, murmuring comforting words in their ears.

“Lydia. Ulfberth, Adrienne,” he greeted, putting both kids down and grabbed Ulfberth’s arm, “I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

Ulfberth squeezed his arm back, “We’re glad you finally showed up.”

“Where’s Moth, Thane?” Lydia asked.

“He...he was injured in the fight.” He pulled Lucia closer when she gasped quietly. Samuel’s fist tightened on his pants. “He’ll be fine,” he finished, hand going up to Samuel’s head.

“Felwinter!” Irileth’s voice echoed across the hall from her spot up high, “We need to talk.”

Felwinter nodded before turning back to them, “Could you all walk them home?”

Adrienne’s hand ran gently up Lucia’s back, “We’ll stop by Moth on the way.”

“Thank you.” He quickly ran past them and jogged up the stairs to where the arguing had already begun.

“Vampires?!” Balgruuf all but yelled, “Are you certain?!”

“Absolutely,” Irileth said, taking his rage as if it was nothing. She was used to this.

“As am I.” Felwinter took his place opposite the Jarl, next to Caius and Farengar

Balgruuf rubbed his eyes, “Does Danica know?”

“She does. She’s helping to combat any infection that might have been contracted.”

Balgruuf leaned over his map before suddenly punching the wooden table. “In daylight! In broad daylight!” He turned on Felwinter, Irileth and Farengar, “You three are mages, are you not?! Explain this!”

“My Jarl, if I may,” Farengar pulled a sheet of parchment out of his robes and placed it flat on the table, “An Orsimer man stopped by Arcadia’s sometime last week. He told her about this organization called the Dawnguard. Vampire hunters of old.”

Balgruuf picked up the paper, his eyes scanned over it for a few seconds before he handed it Felwinter. He immediately folded it and tucked it into one of his pockets, already planning the trip to Dayspring Canyon.

These monsters weren’t going to threaten his family ever again.

Commander Caius cleared his throat, “If you’re looking for more immediate answers, Jarl Balgruuf, we found a vampire attempting to escape the city.”

Felwinter’s eyes widened.

“He’s in the dungeon,” Caius said, “We’ve subdued his magic. He’s not going anywhere. We can question him.”

“Let me do it,” Felwinter demanded, hands squeezing the wooden edge of the table. Irileth recognizes the look in his eye from before. The vampire wouldn’t survive his interrogation. But after just overhearing Caius preparing funeral pyres and how to alert families of their fallen children, there wasn’t the slightest hint of sympathy for the vampire.

“Go ahead Felwinter,” Balgruuf ordered. “Get us answers. Then dispose of the thing as you wish.”

* * *

The two guards jumped when the door suddenly slammed open in the silence; silence following hours of blood curdling screams and bone chilling begging emanating from the dungeon they were assigned to guard.

Neither knew the Dragonborn personally but they had both heard enough to know that for all his troublemaking, he was a kind person. The last few hours only served to show that his kindness had limits and this attack had pushed well past it.

Felwinter walked out. A thick plume of smoke flowed after him, heavy with the stench of burnt flesh. “I’m finished,” he said. He put a piece of paper to he chest of one of the guards, “Get this to Irileth and the Jarl immediately. And tell them the vampire is dead.” He closed the door behind them, “I’ve already cleaned up the mess.”

* * *

It was some time before Moth could leave. Despite Danica’s attempts to get him to stay at the temple, she had said herself he would be fine. The bed could go to someone who needed it.

It took nearly five minutes for Moth to force himself to his feet, even with Felwinter’s help. Every single muscle involved in the movement screamed in protest of each step. Felwinter had offered to let him carry him. Moth was tempted to oblige.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you fight seriously,” Felwinter murmured, into the silent night, “Almost forgot I was married to a one man army.”

Moth grinned at the memory of his own words. “I fight like a one man army huh?”

“You fuck like one too.” His smile was finally back.

Moth laughed for just a second until the pain became too much to stand. His arm around Felwinter’s shoulders came up to the man’s head on instinct when his fingers touched hairless skin. “Malacath’s balls…”

Fel stopped, “What? What is it?”

“I just noticed your hair! When in Oblivion did this happen?”

“Oh!” Felwinter brought one of his own hands up to his head, running it through the thick strip of long hair at the center of his head. The sides were shaved bare, like two lands separated by a thick black forest. “That mage in Riften? She calls herself the face changer,” he said, “As it turns out, she does hair too.”

Moth stared at him for a little while longer, wondering how it took him so long to notice such a jarring change in his appearance. “I like it,” he decided, “Makes you look tough.”

“I do like looking tough.”

“Of course you do.” They were in front of the house now. Felwinter slowly pushed the front door open, hoping that the kids would be asleep, even after the day they had. He helped Moth through, magically closing the door behind him while he helped the Orc up the stairs and to their bed.

Felwinter pulled out one of the potions he had been given, helping Moth drink it so the pain wouldn’t keep him awake tonight. Then he slowly and quietly started to pull of Moth’s shoes, watching his work with an intensity that could almost be felt. He got off both boots and then pulled Moth’s pants down, folding it and leaving it neatly on a nearby chair.

He put out the candles, engulfing the room in darkness. Moth could only hear him divest himself of his own clothing and then feel the bed dip and Felwinter’s warm body pressed against him, careful to avoid the splintered hand. The sounds of the winds outside and their combined breathing filled their silence.

Moth’s mind returned to that morning and how he had wished for something like what they were sharing now. It shouldn’t have had to take so much. Maybe one day it won’t. But today they were both here. Both alive and for now, it'd have to do. 


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felwinter invents cellphones and rescues Serana

  
“Thane Moth Drakon gro-Bagol?” Felwinter grinned, “You have to admit it has a ring to it.”

“If I admit it, will you leave me alone?”

“Is that a serious question?”

A sigh. “I knew these things were bad ideas.”

As much as he wished, Felwinter could not waste time in contacting the Dawnguard. In the week of reprieve he had been granted to tend to his injured husband, he crafted and enchanted a pair of pendants with Dwemer memory crystals, designed for storing and transferring information in and between each other. Supercharging them with magic so that the transmission of information was almost instantaneous. He could speak to Moth whenever he wished.

Like when it was barely dawn and the man was trying to sleep.

Moth was made a Thane of Whiterun for his actions. Word had spread like wildfire across Skyrim about the attack; vampires in broad daylight. Judging by the increase in guard patrols and checkpoints in cities around the Rift, people were terrified. Hopefully the Dawnguard would prove to be worth Felwinter’s time. He’d find this “Harkon” bastard either way.

“You all in Markarth?” He asked, emerging out into the sun after several minutes in the dark pass leading to Dayspring Canyon.

“Yes, Felwinter. You walked us through the portal,” the necklace buzzed, accurately conveying Moth’s irritation and slight amusement.

“Just trying to make sure you stayed there,” Felwinter said with an air of innocence; as if he has forgotten the Orc could barely walk let alone leave the city.

Moth wasn’t fooled. “No, you’re looking for a reason to keep me awake and keep you company.”

Falsely offended, Felwinter scoffed, “What? No, I’m not! That’s ridiculous!”

“Uh huh.”

“Sooo…got any brothers or sis-?” Felwinter stopped in his tracks, spotting someone ahead. The man, obviously quite young turned and waved at him with a bright smile. “Moth, there’s someone here. I’ve got to go.”

“Malacath be praised.”

“You could at least wait till I cut the connec-hello? Moth?!” Felwinter let the necklace fall, “Jerk hung up on me.”

“Good morning!” The blonde Nordic man called.

“It is definitely a morning.”

“You here to join the Dawnguard too?” Getting closer, Felwinter found himself staring down the second smallest Nord he had ever met called out. Onmund will be glad to know he still holds the first place title when Felwinter reminds him for the umpteenth time.

“Yes I am.” Felwinter kept walking.

The man stepped in line with him, “Truth is, I’m a bit nervous. Hope you don’t mind if I walk with you.”

“You got a name, kid?”

“Agmaer. You?”

“Felwinter.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Felwinter.” Agmaer thumbed the edge of his axe, “Hey, do me a favor? Don’t tell Isran I was afraid to meet him myself. Not the best first impression for a new vampire hunter.”

“Oh, I won’t tell a soul,” Felwinter promised, already thinking of the funniest way he could bring it up.

The castle captured his attention. Tall stone spires with sun reflecting brightly off them in the early morning. The Blue Palace came close but still wasn’t as impressive.

“Here we are,” Agmaer sighed behind him when they had climbed the path and stopped before the door. “Isran is inside.”

“You think he has food?” Felwinter was already pushing the doors open. Agmaer swallowed audibly.

Felwinter pulled the massive wooden doors all the way open. The inside was just as impressive. At the center of the main hall were two rather big men; obvious warriors, one Redguard and a Nord glaring each other down. Agmaer slowly moved behind Felwinter. Neither even acknowledged the new arrivals.

“Why are you here, Tolan?” The Redguard demanded in a voice deep and rough enough to shake the stones from the walls. Shaved head, long thick beard and deep, permanent lines in his face from many years of battle and frowning. “The Vigilants and I were finished with each other a long time ago.”

“You know why I’m here,” the Nord named Tolan barked back, “Vigilants are under attack everywhere. The vampires are much more dangerous than we believed.”

“And now you want to come running to safety with the Dawnguard. Is that it?” The Redguard crossed his thick arms, “I remember Keeper Carcette telling me repeatedly that Fort Dawnguard is a crumbling ruin. Not worth the expense or manpower to repair. Now that you’ve stirred up the vampires against you, you come begging for my protection.” His lips were twisted into a bitter smile.

Tolan moves closer until he was face to face with the Redguard. “Isran. Carcette is dead,” he bit out, “The Hall of Vigilants…everyone…they’re all dead.” Tolan leaned away and raised his arms, “You were right! We were wrong! Is that enough for you?!”

Isran’s smile had dropped and an almost imperceptible flash of sadness crossed his eyes, “Yes, well…I never wanted this to happen. I…am sorry, you know.”

“Bah!” Tolan spat again. Isran turned away from him, finally acknowledging the visitors. Felwinter smiled brightly. Isran scowled. “So who are you? What do you want?”

Felwinter was still thinking up a sarcastic answer when Agmaer poked his head out from behind him, “We’re here to join the Dawnguard sir!”

Deciding to press the old man, Felwinter jerked a thumb to the entrance doors, “I was out for my morning walk and this castle was in my way.” Isran’s eye twitched. Agmaer squeaked his name in warning. “Luckily, I want to kill vampires too so why not? I’m not doing anything with my life.”

He could hear the Redguard growl and he smiled wider. His eyes swiveled over to Tolan to catch him staring at him. The Nord’s eyes flicked to Isran and back then shook his head in confusion and turned away.

“You there, boy. Stop skulking behind this jester and step up here,” Isran barked at Agmaer, “What's your name?"

He sidled out from behind Felwinter and stood in the light. “Agmaer, sir.”

“Do I look like a sir to you, boy? I’m no soldier.”

“Yes, si-I mean Isran!”

Isran’s eyes raked over his thin frame. “Farm boy, huh? What’s your weapon?”

“M-my weapon?” Agmaer looked down, “My pa’s axe. Mostly against wolves attacking our goats.”

Isran barked out a laugh, loud enough to make Agmaer jump. “‘My pa’s axe.’ Stendarr preserve us!” Agmaer started to turn red. Isran reached behind his back and drew a wooden crossbow. He tossed it at Agmaer, who flinched and scrambled forward. The crossbow froze in midair, just shy of braining the kid. Felwinter gently lowered the weapon into his hand. Agmaer nodded his thanks.

Unimpressed, Isran pointed behind him, “Pack of bolts on that crate. Shoot the crates, let’s see how you do.” Then he turned back to Felwinter. “What’s your name?”

“Jester will do. But if you must know, it’s Felwinter.”

“Felwinter?” Tolan had turned back around. “You’re the Dragonborn!”

“And Harbinger and Arch-Mage,” Isran finished, obviously measuring Felwinter up, “Tell him about Dimhollow, Tolan.”

“Dimhollow Crypt. Brother Adalvald was sure it held some long-lost vampire artifact of some kind. We didn't listen to him any more than we did Isran.” His eyes lowered, “He was at the Hall when it was attacked..."

“You want to make yourself useful, go to Dimhollow,” Isran ordered, “Maybe you’ll find something useful. Maybe you’ll die and I won’t have to put up with your smart mouth.”

“Ooh, catty!”

Isran scowled for what must have been the fourth time in that half hour, “Either way, I win, it seems.” He jerked his thumb behind him, “There’s a crossbow on the table. Take it. Or does the Dragonborn believe he’s too good to so much as carry any kind of weapon?” He asked, referring to Felwinter’s apparent lack of weapons.

Felwinter rolled his eyes and walked, not bothering to look at him as he passed. Getting closer, Felwinter realized he was tall as he was broad. His eyes carried anger; at him, at Tolan, maybe even at the world. At least Isran seemed honorable. He wasn’t another Mercer Frey, something that Felwinter found himself thankful for.

From where he stood before a great table in the castle’s dining hall and over the dull thuds of Agmaer using the crates for target practice, Felwinter could hear Isran and Tolan arguing again. He ignored them, placing his right hand over the crossbow and the set of bolts next to it and closed his eyes. The Daedric markings on his arm began to glow and after a few seconds, similar markings appeared on the weapons, wrapping around them like tendrils.

He removed his hand and flexed his fingers. The markings remained on the weapons for a few seconds more before blinking away. Behind him, the great wooden doors were ripped open and slammed close. Felwinter took it as his cue to leave, turning only to come face to face with Isran.

Isran looked him up and down again, still angry but less hostile. “Where are you from, boy?”

“Boy?” Felwinter was already walking around him, “Are you that old?”

Isran ignored the snipe. “Answer the question. I know you’re not from Skyrim.”

Felwinter turned to him, regarding him coldly. “High Rock,” he answered, “Stormhaven.”

Something unrecognizable flashed in Isran’s eyes. “Stormhaven huh?”

“Haven of storms.”

Isran’s eyes narrowed. The hostility was back. “See yourself out, boy.” He turned and left, footsteps echoing.

* * *

Lokil pulled with the tiny amount of strength still left in the vampire’s arms. The Dragonbone blade slid out of his chest slowly with a barely audible squelch, sound lost in the explosions of pain.

The warrior had just come out of nowhere. Lokil had just managed to kill the captured Vigilant of Stendarr when a loud voice rocked the entire crypt. He was sent rolling back by what seemed to be by the force of the words alone. And before Lokil could even get his bearings again after standing, he found himself face to face with a dark skinned warrior wearing a twisted grin and a blade in his gut sticking him to the stone wall behind him.

Pinned, Lokil watched helplessly as the man effortlessly slaughtered his comrades; each one a countdown to his own fate.

The last one charged at Felwinter with a scream. Twisting around, arm extended, his sword was suddenly replaced by the crossbow. Felwinter fired, tearing a ragged hole in her neck. She stumbled, her scream now nothing more than a wet gurgle. Felwinter caught her and shoved her off the side, letting her fall into the lake below, choking on her own blood. Shaking off the diseased blood, he turned to see the last vampire still struggling with his blade. Felwinter casually walked up to him and knocked his hands away. Then he grabbed Zazikel’s hilt and drove it deeper; the sound of squelching viscera mixing with grating stone. Felwinter held the blade in place until he stopped twitching. Only then did he rip it out.

At the center of the ring of corpses was another; human, not vampire. Felwinter squat down and pulled off the man’s Amulet of Stendarr. A second one to return to Isran along with Tolan’s, who ran into the crypt without waiting for Felwinter’s arrival. The man’s organization was attacked and scattered by these creatures; Felwinter assumed he’d show a little more caution. But grief, especially at losing those one most cared about, could drive a man to his death. By his own hand or by another’s, it stops mattering after a point.

Felwinter’s hand instinctively went up to the necklace under his armor, holding the crystal and his wedding ring. He’d call again when this was done.

Lokil and one of the other vampires had been discussing a “prize” and that the Vigilants knew it was here. Felwinter only cared that Harkon wanted it and now he’d never get to have it. He shook the blood of Zazikel and continued across a short bridge into a large open circular platform standing alone in the stagnant lake. Shallow trenches were etched into the ground. Felwinter guessed that they used to hold water, back when water might have run through it. At the center was a pedestal. At its peak was a button.

Felwinter’s curiosity got the better of him.

Felwinter ripped his hand away and grabbed at the gaping hole in the middle of his palm, quickly weaving together a healing spell while letting loose a string of curses and oaths that impressed even him. The top of the pedestal had opened up when he pushed down on it and he had found his hand for a few mind-numbing moments impaled on a large, sharp needle. The needle had ripped itself out, taking drops of Felwinter’s blood with it and left Felwinter almost writhing on the ground until the pain reached its peak and simply became dull. The healing spell helped to numb the pain and disinfect the wound. Opening one of the many small pouches on his armor, Felwinter fished out gauze, wrapping it tightly around the wound.

Still cursing under his breath, Felwinter tried to stand, putting out his other arm to push himself up. His hand passed through a slowly roiling wave of violet light, light that seemed to circle him and the pillar, running through the shallow trenches like water and into a large chalice like basin.

Felwinter hobbled towards it and when his knee accidentally bumped against it, it moved and the light followed it. There were others dotting the pattern on trenches under his feet; a puzzle of sorts.

The pillar started to shake when Felwinter moved the last chalice into place. His numb hand twinged at the memory. The pillar slowly rose out of the ground, rising above Felwinter’s head. A stone monolith served as its base, buried deep in the ground for what must have been centuries. Front half of the monolith shifted forward and suddenly began to slide back into the ground, revealing a hollow interior and...a person. Felwinter shook himself out of his surprised daze just in time to jump forward and catch her as she fell out of the monolith.

The woman blinked, eyes staring blearily behind him. “Ugh, where is...who are you?” The Nord extracted herself from him and straightened, “Who sent you here?” She demanded forcefully.

Felwinter stepped back, eyebrows raised.

“Well? Answer me!”

“I would but I’m struggling to see how it’s any of your concern.”

The mysterious woman rolled her eyes. “Fine, don’t tell me.”

“I won’t.”

“But whoever they are, are they…” she hesitated, her hands nervously intertwining, “Are they anything like me?”

Felwinter’s face scrunched up, “Like you? A Nord?”

“I...no.” Then she seemed to think and changed her answer, “Well yes and no.”

“Help me out here lady, I’ve had a long day.”

“Are they like me?” she asked again, “A vampire.”

Felwinter blinked a few times and shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears, “...I’m sorry. The flesh eating disease I’ve probably contracted through this wound must have made its way to my brain.”

The woman sighed again and looked like she wished to go back to sleep. “No, no. You heard right, I’m a-”

“Vampire. Got it.” Felwinter’s right hand twitched, ready to call on any weapon in a moment. He’d kill her here and now, just off the very nature of her being. But Harkon wanted her and he needed to know why, “Why were you locked up here?”

The woman’s perpetual frown deepened, “That’s...complicated. And I’m not exactly sure I can trust you yet.”

“Shame.” Magic started to buzz around Felwinter.

“But if you want to know the whole story,” she said, “Take me back to my family’s home. West off the coast of Solitude. My name is Serana, by the way.”

The magic dropped. She might still be useful. Felwinter put on what he hoped was a warm smile. “Serana. Felwinter Drakon. May I know how long you’ve been here?”

She looked around at her surroundings, seeming to hope to glean an answer from them. “I’m sorry, I think it's been a very long time. Who is Skyrim’s current High King?”

“Ah well, the High King was Torygg but he was killed by one of his Jarls in a duel.” Felwinter scratched his beard, “The killing led to a civil war for Skyrim’s independence from the Empire. The Loyalists back Torygg’s widow Jarl Elisif of Solitude as Queen and the rebels back Jarl Ulfric of Windhelm as King.”

Serana suddenly shook her head, “Wait a minute. Empire? What Empire?”

“The Empire? From Cyrodiil? Septim’s Empire?”

The name caught her by surprise. “Septim? Tiber Septim? He made an Empire?!”

“Okay, how about we slow down a bit, Serana.” Felwinter clutched his wounded hand in the other and started another spell, trying to numb the returning pain, “What was happening during your time? Any major events?”

“Just the Three Banners War,” she said with a shrug, “Nothing else of note. And Tiber Septim was just some general in a human army. Said the Greybeards even called him Dragonborn but I’m not so sure.”

“You met him?”

“At a party my mother took me to before...everything.” To his surprise, Serana smiled wistfully, “A terrible conversationalist honestly. Not the man you’d look at a think ‘Emperor’.” Serana sighed again, “I’ve been gone longer than I thought and definitely longer than planned. Please, let’s hurry.”

“Know a way out?” Felwinter asked, standing aside to let her take a look around.

But she shook her head, “It’s different than I remember. Your guess is as good as mine. I’m sorry.”  
.  
“No trouble.” Felwinter shrugged, “I’m in places like this more often than not.” He nodded his head in the direction of a set of stairs leading up and out of the Crypt’s main area and started walking. “So who exactly are you hoping you see at your old family home?”

“Knowing my luck, the very person I’d rather not see.” Felwinter beckoned her to explain, “It’s this.” She pointed to her back, “He’s probably more interested in this and I’d rather he not get it.”

“‘This’? What’s ‘th-” Felwinter looked over her shoulder and finally decided the infection really had gone to his brain. “That’s an Elder Scroll. That is an Elder Scroll on your back. You have an Elder Scroll. Why the FUCK do you have an Elder Scroll?!”

Serana scoffed, “That’s also none of your business!” She crossed her arms and brought her voice back down, “It’s mine and that’s all you need to know.”

Felwinter blew out a long breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright.” He took another breath. “Okay.” One more, for good measure. “That...is fine. Can you tell me who exactly is after it then? Who you don’t want to meet? And if you say that it's not my business, then I’m going to decide this whole thing is none of my business and you can walk home yourself.”

Serana physically deflated. “Fine. It’s...my father. Harkon.”

Felwinter coughed in surprise. “Harkon? Lord Harkon?” he asked, ‘Leader of the…” Felwinter pulled out his notes from his very loud interview with the recently deceased vampire, “Vol-ki-har vampires? Did I say that right? That Harkon?”

“Yes and…yes.”

“Well, let’s not waste any time! And don’t worry about me trying to take the Elder Scroll, I already have my own.” He tucked the note away quickly, “Well let’s go! I’m sure your father will be…ecstatic to see you.” He smiled; a bright thing, all sharp teeth.

Serana crossed her arms, “You’re awfully excited.”

“Well of course I am!” Fel’s smile got even wider and his pupils smaller, “After all, I am a huge fan. Well come on! No time like the present!” The big man practically marched off the island, forcing Serana to almost jog to catch up.

Felwinter suddenly stopped and Serana nearly bumped into him. His head was turned towards a wall with strange markings etched into it. Serana couldn’t begin to read what it was saying but Felwinter seemed enamored. The man suddenly shook his head violently and blinked, as if snapping out of a trance. “Sorry. Been looking for that word for a while.”

“Word?” she looked at the wall, to him and then back at the wall, “What wo-hey!” She called when she noticed him already on the other side of the tunnel, marching again.

* * *

“That’s it, out there to the north.” She pointed, her other hand shifting her hood slightly back out of her eyes.

Felwinter whistled. “Harkon’s been in there the entire time,” he murmured, “Makes things easier.” He put his hand in front of his face, blocking out the setting sun to get a better look at the mist laden fortress.

“There should be a boat around here somew-”

“Found it!” Felwinter had already shed his cloak and tossed it into the boat at the end of the old wooden bridge leading into the lake. The trek had been long and hard and the man was showing no signs of exhaustion. He was in shape, obviously but still, he was just human. A human who seemed unnaturally dedicated and excited about meeting her father, but still just human. Felwinter draped the rope over his shoulder and pulled the boat closer to shore, looked at her and then gestured to it, beckoning her to get in.

She wished for his enthusiasm, if only to quell the fear in her belly.

* * *

 

“Felwinter?”

“Serana,” he responded, his eyes leaving the murky lake to meet hers as he piloted the boat through it.

She was playing with her fingers again, “Before we go in there…”

Felwinter could practically feel her nerves from where he was and he felt sympathy, despite himself, “Everything alright.”

“I think so...and thanks for asking.” Her fingers calmed in their fidgeting, “I just wanted to thank you for getting me this far. But after we get in there, I’m going to need to go my own way for a while.”

Whatever she meant didn’t seem to clash with what Felwinter had planned so he shrugged, “Alright.”

“And I know you’d probably like nothing more than to kill everything in there. But please-”

Felwinter let the boat bump into Volkihar’s shore, cutting Serana off. He held her gaze for a few more seconds before getting out and securing the boat. Smart girl.

“But please, Felwinter,” she continued, quickly getting out after him, “Show some restraint. Let me do the talking.” This time, she took the lead, letting him follow her up into a castle that was even bigger than Dawnguard Fort. Felwinter stared at the carrion eaters flying and screaming overhead and pushed the feeling of death and rot from his mind.

There was a large wooden gate between them and the door and a man with a hand on his blade, already pulling it out. Serana dropped her hood and the watchman’s sword dropped back into its sheath. He quickly grabbed the handle controlling the gate and pulled, causing the gate to shake before slowly lifting up and clearing the way. The man kept his hand to his heart and his head down, not even looking at them as they walked past.

Serana pulled open the doors, revealing a brightly lit keep. An Altmer standing at the balcony turned at the sound of the door opening and gaped, “Wait...Serana?” he breathed, “Is that truly you? I cannot believe my eyes!”

Serana gave him a thin smile, “Yes, Vingalmo. It’s...it’s been a long ti-” Vingalmo practically ran out into the brighter part of the keep, “Oh boy.”

“My lord! Everyone! Serana has returned!” Excited murmurs filled the castle. Serana looked like she wanted to run. So Felwinter stepped forward, slowly as to give her enough time to make her decision and catch up with him.

They came together to the top of the stairs, staring down over what seemed to be a banquet. Three long tables made up the center of the atrium, two on the sides facing each other and one at the head of the keep. They were filled to overflowing with goblets of black-red liquid and tattered chunks of bloody flesh. Everyone here was a vampire. Immune or not, Felwinter was at a disadvantage. He would have to watch his back here.

“My long lost daughter. Returned to me at last.” Felwinter’s eyes snapped towards the head of the table. A man was standing, handsome faced graced with a deceivingly warm smile. “I trust you have my Elder Scroll?”

Harkon. Felwinter let out a shuddering breath and his right hand twitched almost visibly.

“After all these years, that the first thing you ask me?” Serana’s voice was mixed with disbelief and incredulity. “Yes, I have the Scroll.”

Despite her slight disrespect, Harkon’s smile grew. “ Of course I am delighted to see you, my daughter. Must I really say the words aloud?” Harkon sighed, “If only your traitor mother were here. I would let her watch this reunion before putting her head on a spike.” All the warmth and fatherliness left his smile, leaving only a sick malice. “Now tell me, who is this stranger you have brought into our hall.”

Serana visibly swallowed before gesturing to him, “This is the one who freed me. He was kind enough to ensure I got here safely afterwards.”

“Ah.” Harkon turned to Felwinter, “For my daughter’s safe return, you have my gratitude. Tell me stranger, what is your name?”

“Felwinter Drakon.” He bowed with an exaggerated flourish, “Thane of Whiterun.” The markings on his arm flashed out, the force of the spell making his cloak billow outward revealing Dragonbone armor and Dawnbreaker; pitch black clashing against glittering white light.

“Whiterun, eh?” Harkon crossed his arms and rubbed his fingers through his short beard, his calm completely at odds with the rest of his court, who were standing up and arming themselves, “I guess you’re here about the attack on your precious city.”

“So you’re not just a pretty face. Did the ‘Thane’ part tip you off?” Felwinter asked, dropping the cloak, “C’mon, I know you’ve got weapons. Get them out. Make this worth my time.”

Harkon scoffed and laughed. He held his palm out behind him to stop an armed Nordic vampire advancing on them. “I don’t think I’m going to do that Drakon. Besides, that attack was nothing. Simply testing my capabilities to empower my servants. And I heard it worked rather well but that must have been an understatement, judging by your presence here.”

Felwinter stalked forward, shoulders hunched and teeth bared, “I didn’t ask for your reasons.”

“No. You did not.” Harkon lifted an arm and held one finger out. A small red sphere of magic appeared at the tip. Felwinter suddenly felt all control leave his limbs and they remained stuck in place, no matter how hard he forced them forward.

“You should know by now that my daughter and I are far from regular vampires,” Harkon said with an air of him that told Felwinter the man was barely struggling to keep him locked in place, “ We are the original vampires. The true vampires! Receivers of the blessing from Lord Molag Bal himself.” Harkon’s hand lowered and clasped together behind his back. He slowly walked up to Felwinter, who couldn’t even so much as flinch. He heard Serana mutter his name.

“Shame about all this anger, this need for revenge,” Harkon said after some time, “You’ve got spine. You know how to wield a sword and you have enough command about you to put everyone of my subjects on edge with nothing but a sentence.” He shook his finger in Felwinter’s direction, “I could always use someone like you in my court. To be my enforcer, my right hand.” Harkon shrugged, “My successor. Maybe even provide me grandchildren.”

“What?!” Serana cried out, “This is nothing like that!”

“Oh please, girl. Why else do men do anything they do?” Harkon grabbed Felwinter’s chin, “Alas like I said, a shame. You want your revenge and you stink too much of dog to accept the gift I would offer you. So instead, Felwinter, I give you the gift of your life.” The blood red magical foci appeared on his finger again and enveloped his entire fist, “Goodbye, Thane Drakon.”

Felwinter felt control return to him from the head down. When it washed over his eyelids, he blinked twice and the interior of Castle Volkihar was suddenly replaced with the outside. With a weak grunt, he pitched forward and landed on cold hard snow, wind roaring in his ears.

Despite it all, he laughed, loudly and raucously because if he wasn’t angry before….

Felwinter tugged on the chain around his neck, pulling the crystal and ring out from under his armor. He held the cold crystal for a few seconds until it started to warm up. From the other side, he heard his husband clear his throat, “Felwinter. Everything alright?”

“Moth. Love. Have I got a story for you.”

 

 

 

 


	17. Chapter Sixteen

“Ow! Damn it!” Felwinter yelped, “Not so tight!”

Ghorza yanked the bandages even tighter, making Felwinter curse again. “Don’t know why you couldn’t do this yourself. This is the second time I’ve had to patch you up.”

“Oh, poor you. Fuck!” Felwinter nearly screamed. He heard one of his supposed-to-be sleeping children gasp against their closed bedroom door.

“Felwinter, language. Ghorza, be nice.” Moth dropped down in the chair next to Felwinter; with a groan but no assistance. He was healing quickly. Moth tapped Felwinter’s arm, “A hole in one hand and broken knuckles in the other. How did you even injure yourself this badly?”

He sighed, “I told you already. The hole was from the vampire girl I rescued.”

“Yes, I remember that. You found a girl, escorted her home and her father rewarded you by not killing you on sight,” Moth summarized, “But how in the Void did your other hand get this bad?”

“You think my hand is bad?” Felwinter’s laughed; a harsh and bitter sound, “You should see Isran’s nose! I’m pretty sure it’s gonna be stuck like that forever.”

Moth blinked in disbelief. “Isran? Why in Malacath’s name did you punch Isran?!”

“Who’s Isran?” Argis asked, placing a hot mug down in front of Moth and Felwinter before sitting down himself.

Tacitus perked up, “Ooh, leader and resident hardass of the Dawnguard.” The answer caught him strange looks, “What? You all were talking loudly.”

“He’s right,” Felwinter muttered, leaning down until his chin rested on the table. He said nothing further for the few minutes after; just stared ahead, brow furrowed and a strange look in his tired eyes. Barely contained anger and near overwhelming sadness.

Moth ran his hand down Felwinter’s back. “Please, love. Tell us what happened.”

Felwinter looked over at him, gazing into his eyes silently for a few seconds more before rising up and putting his hands together on the table.

* * *

“Didn’t realize I missed all the fun,” Felwinter remarked, stepping over several vampire corpses, “If I had known, I might have actually hurried.” He nodded to the vampire currently struggling under Isran’s foot. “Who’s your friend?”

Breathing hard, Isran glowered at him. He shifted his boot from the still living vampire’s face to her neck and pressed down slowly until a hollow snap echoed across the canyon. “This is funny to you?”

Felwinter shrugged. “Given everything that’s happened, a bit.”

Isran picked up his warhammer from where it had been dropped, “And what exactly has happened? What did you find at Dimhollow Crypt?” Isran paused to bark orders to other Dawnguard members to take the bodies of the vampires and burn them quickly, “Well?”

“I found Tolan. Seems he charged in alone. And another Vigilant.” Felwinter held up their effects, the two amulets clanking quietly against each other. “My apologies. And I actually mean that.”

Isran’s eyes flicked from Felwinter’s face to the two amulets. He could see anger spike again in the old man’s eyes. Anger and maybe even regret. It was only there for a second before Isran rudely grabbed to amulets from his hand and tossed them into a nearby table. “What else?” he asked dismissively.

“Vampires crawling all over the tomb which was expected, of course,” Felwinter explained, stopping with Isran in front of a large table with a large map. “But they were looking for something. And…I found it. Or at least…I found her.”

Isran’s head swiveled over to face him, brows tightly knit. “Her? What in Stendarr’s name do you mean ‘her’? I just got attacked by vampires in broad daylight, boy-”

“Join the club, Isran.” Felwinter dropped into a seat, leaned back and propped a boot up on the desk.

Isran promptly knocked it back down, a thick vein forming on his temple. “I just got attacked by vampires in broad daylight, boy,” he spat, the last word said like it was making him sick, “Would it kill you to be the one thing today that makes sense?!”

“If you’d let me finish...” Felwinter stood again, casting yet another healing spell on his injured hand when the pain flared up. “I meant what I said. ‘Her’. There was a girl sealed the the center of Dimhollow Crypt. After a bit of difficulty…” Felwinter paused to show him the tightly bandaged hand, “I got her out. A vampire with an Elder Scroll named Serana.”

“A vampire? With an Elder Scroll?!” Isran growled in frustration, large hands gripping the wooden table, “Why didn’t you take it from her? Where is she?”

“I took her to her family home and yes, with the Elder Scroll.” Isran’s eyes widened at that and Felwinter quickly continued before he could explode once again, “Her home is Castle Volkihar, off the coast of Solitude.” Felwinter took a quill from the nearby inkwell and marked it. Isran leaned in, his shoulder jostling Felwinter’s. “It’s where the orders for all these attacks have come from and where their ability to walk in daylight seems to originate.”

Isran growled again. “I’ve fought vampires for decades, boy. I’ve never encountered anything like this,” he said.

“Even a true vampire?”

“A few.”

Despite everything, Felwinter found himself impressed. “Well, I doubt you’ve encountered one this old or this...sociopathic.” Felwinter tapped the marking of Volkihar, “The leader of the Volkihar clan, the mind behind these attacks and Serana’s father is Lord Harkon, a true vampire originating from probably the Second Era or even before. I couldn’t take the Elder Scroll or even so much as touch him, even though I tried. He let me live for returning his daughter, who he has plans for, but he plans to kill me the next time he sees me.”

“And his plans for the Elder Scroll?”

“I don’t know.”

“So you accomplished nothing, is that it?” Isran made the accusation with such acid, Felwinter started.

After the initial shock, the Dragonborn nearly laughed. “I got you a name. I got you a location. Even insight into their plans.”

“And by letting them get that Elder Scroll and by letting both the girl and her father live, you helped them speed things up!” Isran cut him off. “On top of all this, you treat everything like a gods damned joke. Even Agmaer took down his own vampire today. Why are you even here, boy?”

“I’m here because I almost watched my husband die at the hands of Harkon’s vampires!” Felwinter’s voice was echoing across the castle. Everyone could probably hear their little spat, “I watched him get run through by a blade. I watched them bite into a vein on his neck. He almost bled to death in my arms.” Felwinter stopped, taking deep breaths to push the memories and the panic that came with them from his mind. He spoke again, quieter now, “When Alduin threatened my peace, I killed him. When the Dark Brotherhood threatened my family, I wiped them out. How many gods have you killed, Isran? How many?!” His tone started to rise again.

Isran just glowered. Felwinter continued, “I’m here because Harkon not only threatened my peace, not only threatened my family but he had the nerve, the fucking gall to lay his hands on them. I want him dead, Isran. I want to separate his head from his body with my bare hands-” Felwinter paused to take another breath and moved even closer to the older man, “And I want to do it as slowly as possible.” He moved back, “Which I’m sure is something you can appreciate. Something we have in common.”

“The only thing,” Isran muttered, leaning over his map.

“Is that not enough?” Felwinter asked. Then he sighed and ran his hand through his hair before he realized what he was doing and combed his fingers through to fix it, “I’m not ashamed to admit I can’t do something alone. I couldn’t beat Alduin or save the College without help. At first, I did when thought it was just Harkon but it’s more than that,” he said, “Look, I don’t like you. Probably because you seem to revel in being unlikeable. And you don’t seem to like anybody, probably for the same reason. But I need your help. And you…”he tapped the man’s armored chest and had his hand promptly shoved away, “Need mine. The second this new crisis is dealt with, you’ll never see me again. Deal?”

Felwinter stuck his hand out and to his surprise, Isran grabbed it immediately and squeezed hard. “I look forward to it,” he growled, squeezing a bit tighter before letting go.

“There are people we need,” Isran said, moving back to the map, “I can’t run this place without their skills, their talents.” Isran took the quill and marked a spot on the Eastmarch region, “You'll want to find Gunmar,” he said, “Big brute of a Nord, hates vampires almost as much as I do. Got it into his head years back that his experience with animals would help. Trolls in particular, from what I hear.”

Isran marked another spot, this time in the Reach, “We'll also want Sorine Jurard. Breton girl, whip-smart and good with tinkering. Fascination with the Dwemer; weapons in particular. Last I knew, she was out in the Reach, convinced she was about to find the biggest dwarven ruins yet. Look for Dwemer ruins, odds are you’ll find her.”

Isran’s shoulders then tensed and the vein reappeared on his forehead. He closed his eyes for a few seconds before opening them and marking a third and final spot in the Rift. “Florentius Baenius,” he growled, “A priest of Arkay and a master at Restoration spells. Last I heard, he was snooping around the Ruunvald excavation site. I’d rather not have him here but we’re obviously desperate and if he can maintain some semblance of normalcy, he can stay.” Isran lifted himself away from the map, “Track them down and tell them of the problem. Convince them to come back.”

Felwinter had a quip about Isran’s charming personality but he held his tongue, choosing to simply nod once and take his leave. From the center atrium, he could see Agmaer in the dining hall, shoulder tightly wrapped and favoring the other arm to eat. Felwinter turned on his heels and walked up to him. The other Dawnguard members went from muttering amongst themselves to going deathly silent. As expected, they heard everything. Agmaer twisted around to look at the new arrival and nodded in greeting with a bright smile.

“Agmaer, vampire bane,” Felwinter announced, making the young man blush, “Has a ring to it.”

He shook his head, “I honestly think I just got lucky.”

“A lot of fights are just getting lucky,” Felwinter picked up an apple and chuckled, “Trust me, I know.”

“That’s right, I heard. You’re the Dragonborn!”

“One and only.”

“Wow, I’ve heard the stories all over.” He paused to rip a piece of bread off with his teeth, “If the problem is as big as it seems, I’m glad you’re on our side.”

Fel smirked, “You know just what to say to win a man’s heart.” Felwinter jostled him as the Nord turned even redder, “I’ve gotta go, gotta run Isran’s errands. Keep your head down kid, you’ll do fine.” He took a bite out of the apple and stood. From his position, he watched Isran walk by the table with the two amulets, stop and stare.

Then he gingerly picked both up and started up the stairs with both dangling from his tight fingers. 

* * *

Felwinter crested the hill, planting his boots in the solid dirt and staring out over an open stretch of land. It was night by the time he made it to Eastmarch but the full moon provided more than enough light. The wind blew over him and he paused to let himself enjoy it.

His basking was soon interrupted the familiar roar of an angry bear and the pained grunt of a person getting knocked off their feet. Felwinter sighed wearily.

He had found a Nord who had fit Isran’s description. Big, tall and a fixation with animals. One that was about to get him killed.

Below, Gunmar twisted away before the bear could drop its full weight on top of him and scrambled for his axe as the bear gave chase again.

“WULD NAAH KEST.” Felwinter shot forward with inhuman speed. He tackled Gunmar, pulling the man out from under the bear and dragging him out of the way. The bear roared again, twisting around and charging the men.

“KAAN,” Felwinter Shouted, releasing an explosion of ethereal blue light. The bear skidded to a halt, it’s enraged roars toning down to soft, easy growls.

Gunmar, smarter than his appearance would suggest, wasted no time shoving past Felwinter and burying his weapon deep in the animal’s skull. He lifted it out in a fountain of blood and immediately buried it in the bear’s neck with a roar.

Felwinter wiped a fleck of blood away from below his eye.

Gunmar straightened up from the bear corpse, huffing and rolling the mountains he called shoulders. “Hey stranger, I don’t know what exactly you did back there but I’m grate-” Gunmar turned around and his jaw went slack.

Felwinter smiled.

“Isran?!!”

The smile dropped.

Gunmar’s widened eyes shot up from his face to his hair. “What…in the names of all eight of the Divines…did you do to your hair?!”

Stunned, Felwinter had to take a few seconds to find his voice. “How…what…in what possible way could you ever mistake me for Isran?!”

Gunmar blinked and leaned in closer. “Oh. I…I apologize. It must be later than I thought. I see it in the eyes now.” Gunmar shook the blood and pieces of meat and bone off his axe before sheathing it. “May I ask who you are then, stranger? So I may thank you properly.”

Felwinter found it difficult to remain annoyed at the man’s politeness. “Felwinter,” was all he said.

“Drakon? Felwinter Drakon? I’ve heard of you!” Gunmar stuck out his cleaner hand and Felwinter clasped it, “Gunmar. An honor. May I ask why you seem to be looking for me.”

Felwinter dropped into a sitting position, down onto a nearby stump. “Turns out I actually know Isran. He sent me to find you. He needs your help.”

It was Gunmar’s turn to be shocked into silence. “Isran? Needing other people? That’s funny.” He pulled out a large hunting knife and squat before the bear.

“I’m not joking…for once,” Fel muttered.

“But Isran can handle anything alone!” He said as if were reciting the Redguard’s words. “He assured me so himself. What could he possibly need my help with?”

“Vampires.”

Gunmar paused.

“Powerful ones. Attacking in broad daylight,” he continued, “They have a leader and he has…I don’t know, some kind of plan. Whatever it is, I doubt it bodes well for any of us. It also involves an Elder Scroll. Which they currently have.”

“Vampires and an Elder Scroll.” Gunmar rubbed his beard, “That…does change things.” The Nord then sighed, “Can’t believe I’m saying this but you…and Isran are right. Let me finish up here and I can head to where you are situated.”

“Dawnguard Fort. Through Dayspring Canyon in the Rift,” Felwinter directed, “I’ll meet you there. I have others to find.”

“Sorine?”

“And Florentius.”

“Florentius?” Gunmar barked out a laugh, “The old man really is desperate!”

* * *

“Isran? Is that you?”

The first time was infuriating. The second time just hurt. For a few seconds, Felwinter figured that this was why he seemed to intimidate people so much rather than his so called “propensity for violence and unpredictability that bordered on Daederic levels” as Argis described it after he had gotten into one of Felwinter’s books.

He ran a gloved hand down his face. “You Sorine? I’m Felwinter. Not Isran. Isran sent me to find you.”

“I should’ve guessed. Isran would never cut his hair like that.” The mousy, brown haired Sorine pulled a thick book from one of her packs before tossing it down in frustration. “And no thank you. As I recall,  
Isran made it exceedingly clear that he had no interest in my help. I find it hard to believe he's changed his mind. He also said some very hurtful things to me before I left.”

“That seems par for the course, doesn’t it?” Fel asked with a smile.

“Oh trust me, it is!” She said, opening another book, “Don’t know why that means I’m required to put up with it. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

Felwinter sighed and moved around Sorine, sitting on the Dwemer contraption in front of her. “Look, Sorine. I’m sure by now you’ve heard of the vampire attack on Whiterun. I was there when it happened,” he said. The mention of vampires was what got her attention again. “I followed to trail to the source or I guess, the head. And at the head of all this? A very old and powerful Vampire with an Elder Scroll and a plan for it. I located Gunmar in Eastmarch just over a day ago and managed convinced him.”

Still looking up at him, she slowly closed her book. “This must be serious then.”

“He also wants me to find a man named Florentius.”

Just like Gunmar, she laughed, a snort instead of a bark. “Okay, the world must be ending. I’ll get my things and…” Sorine looked around, “You haven’t seen a bag of Dwemer gyros around, have you? I fear a mudcrab might have run off with it.”

“Oh!” Felwinter pulled a wet bag out from behind him, “I was wondering who these belonged to. I was just looking for something to eat honestly.” 

* * *

Florentius jerked awake at the sound of someone kicking the iron bars of his cage. He blinked wearily and brought himself up to see a large, armored dark skinned man in what Florentius recognized to me a Dragon Priest mask standing before the cage, dragging the struggling form of one of his captives behind him.

“Hmm, you were right,” the man said to the vampire, “Thanks for the help, friend.” He lifted him up in one arm and tossed him over the side of the bridge leading to Florentius’ cage, shrill screaming cut off by the sound of a hard impact.

Florentius started to stand and dust himself off, “It’s about time. Though you’re not exactly what I was told to expect-”

The mask disappeared and the man suddenly leaned in, placing his head between the bars, his brown pupils shrunken to an inhuman smallness. “I am not Isran. Do not call me Isran. If you call me Isran, you will die in here. Do you understand me?”

Florentius waved the man’s threat off. “Settle down, I know you’re not Isran. I can tell two Redguards apart. But I know Isran sent you, though like I said, you’re not what I expected.”

The man’s pupils grew until they were normal size again. Then they filled with confusion. “Who exactly were you expecting then?”

He shrugged, “Well the way Arkay described it, someone…brighter.”

“You calling me stupid?”

“No, not bright as in intelligent, bright as in…” Florentius spun his hand, trying to think up the right word, “Shiny?”

Felwinter blinked.

“Look, I told Arkay his description made no sense!” Florentius threw his hands in the air -nd started to pace the cage, “I mean, how could it? It’s too big! The light and the heat would probably kill me. And I doubt Isran is capable of commanding Akatosh himself to come and get me.”

“Um, hey, hello?” Felwinter called, interrupting his ranting, “…Arkay?”

The we Imperial sighed wearily, “Yes, Arkay,” he answered as if explaining himself to a child, “The Divine of life and death. He speaks to me in my head.”

“I…you…never mind.” Felwinter pulled out a key and unlocked Florentius’ cell, reaching in and yanking the man out, “Isran sent me. He needs your help with-”

“The vampire crisis, Lord Harkon, the Elder Scroll and the Tyranny of the Sun, yes, yes, Arkay told me everything.” Florentius moved around him on the narrow bridge and immediately started for the exit, walking with a vigor that belied his capture. Felwinter stared after him and began to question his own sanity in letting this man go.

“Are you coming or not?!” 

* * *

“Dawnguard Fort. Been awhile since I was in these halls.” Florentius stepped through the wooden doors and into the atrium and took a look around, “Still as much of a dump as I remember.”

Gunmar looked upwards and warned quietly, “Heads up, everyone.”

“Isran! Been a long time, old friend,” Florentius said. From his position above their heads, they could see Isran’s lip curl up into a sneer.

Everyone except Florentius apparently, who continued, “You sent the wrong person after me.” He jerked a thumb at Felwinter, who sighed “He’s too small. And not shiny enough.”

“You got us all here, Isran,” Gunmar said, stepping forward, “What is it that you want?”

“Stop right there, all of you,” he barked harshly, making Gunmar pause. Isran raised his hand and his palm started to glow. From below their feet, a pillar of golden light enveloped them entirely. Felwinter could feel the sheer power coming out from under him and found himself impressed that whatever this spell was, Isran was fueling it himself with no sign of exertion on his face.

Sorine lifted her feet to see the ground under it, “Isran, what are you doing?”

“Making sure you’re not vampires.” The magical glow on both Isran’s hand and the ground disappeared, “Can’t be too careful.”

“Well of course this one isn’t a vampire.” Florentius jerked his head in Felwinter’s direction, “The beast blood in him would never let that disease set in.”

Felwinter coughed in surprise as the other three pairs of eyes turned towards him. “How in the world could you possibly-”

“Arkay.”

“....What?!”

“Enough!” Isran cut them both off, “I’m sure the boy here has already explained the situation. Sorine, Gunmar, there’s room for both of you to start working. Tinkering with weapons, training and equipping trolls and other animals. Florentius, find the other recruits and start teaching them anti-undead spells. Felwinter, you and I need to talk.”

Felwinter groaned.

“Now wait just a minute,” Sorine called out, “Felwinter explained it partially but I was still expecting to hear what you had to say on the matter.”

“You know all you need to know,” Isran dismissed her, “Felwinter, get up here now. I’d like an explanation for why a female vampire showed up at the Fort, asking for you by name.”

“Wait, what, who, what?!”

His answer echoed out from behind Isran,  
“Nice to see you again, Felwinter.”

“Serana?!”

“Now, wait just a damn minute,” Gunmar said, “This is not how this is going to work, Isran, alright? This is a partnership. You’re the one begged us to come back here.”

Felwinter growled in frustration before shaking his head and planting his feet. “He’s right, Isran.”

“I don’t have time for this, Felwinter!”

“Make time.”

“Get up here, boy. Now!”

“Come down here and get me, old man.”

Isran’s eyes blew open with rage and without warning, he leapt over the upper railing and fell to the ground, landing hard on his feet. Head down, fists balled and teeth bared, he stalked towards Felwinter.

“Alright, alright, let’s all just settle down.” Sorine moves in between the men, putting her hands to their chests and keeping the men apart.

“Yes, they do have a similar temper, don’t they,” Florentius murmured to himself or whomever from the side, “He’s still not shiny enough.”

Isran paid him no mind. “I thought we had an agreement, Felwinter,” he spat through clenched teeth.

“That I would help you, yes.” Felwinter nodded and shrugged, “I never said I wouldn’t call you out on your shit if necessary.” He waved his arm at the three, “I had to convince these three to come back. And apparently, it takes the possibility of the world ending to even get them to consider putting up with your attitude again. Does that not say something about you?”

“Felwinter, that’s enough please,” Sorine pushed them further apart when Isran pushed closer. “Could you just go and talk to this…vampire? Find us later.” She nodded her head to Gunmar and Florentius, who quickly vacated the atrium.

Felwinter was left alone with a barely calm Isran. “Follow me,” he grumbled bitterly. Isran led him up the stairs into a dimly lit room. Serana nearly jumped up when she saw him, “Felwinter!”

“What are you doing here, Serana?” Felwinter demanded through clenched teeth.

“I'd rather not be here either, but I needed to talk to you. It's important, so please just listen before your friend, here-”

“He’s not my friend.”

“-loses his patience. It's... well…” she crossed her arms, like she usually did when nervous, “It's about me. And the Elder Scroll that was buried with me. I'm guessing you figured this part out already, but my father's not exactly a good person. Even by vampire standards.”

Felwinter snorted, “I guessed.”

“He has…a plan. To blot out the sun and allow vampires to roam the world unhindered,” Serana explained. Her eyes kept flicking towards Isran, who managed to be fearsome and imposing even from a distance. She visibly relaxed when Felwinter moved between her and his glaring. “My mother and I didn’t feel like inviting war to all of Tamriel so I was buried away with the Scroll.”

“Why take such a big risk coming here, Serana?” Felwinter asked.

“Because this is a pretty big deal. And…” she shrugged her thin shoulders, “And I feel I can trust you.”

“Alright, you’ve heard what it had to say.” Isran stepped forward, armored boots loud against the stone, “Now tell me, is there any reason I shouldn’t kill this bloodsucking fiend right now?”

“Because she risked her life coming here to warn us?” Felwinter pointed out, “Because we need her help? Because she brought us the damn Elder Scroll?” He tapped the gold metal casing of the Scroll on her back for emphasis.

Isran’s lip curled up into a snarl. “Fine. But if she lays a finger on any person here, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

He turned to Serana, “You hear that monster? You’re not a guest here. You’re an asset. A resource. Do not make me regret my sudden and uncharacteristic outburst of tolerance or the boy here pays for it.”

“Thank you for your kindness.” Serana bowed like the noble she was raised as, “I’ll remember it the next time I’m feeling…hungry.” She smiled, showing a set of brilliant white fangs.

Felwinter snorted. “Serana, come with me. I’ll find you a place to stay.” Felwinter kept eye contact with Isran as he walked her out.

* * *

“Felwinter, hey!” Sorine waved him over to her spot, where she already had her tools and several crossbows taken apart

“You got set up rather quickly,” he remarked, sitting at the grindstone next to her desk.

“What can I say, I’m efficient!” She beamed, a ray of of sunshine in this dank fort.

“How are Florentius and Gunmar?” He heard a familiar grunt of exertion and peeked around her to see a shirtless Gunmar lifting massive logs up and placing them together in the form of a wooden gate, “Wow.”

She followed his gaze. “Pfft, for all his humility, he’s such a show off. You’ll get used to it.”

“There’s a lot to get used to.”

The tiny Breton woman stuck a playful finger in his face, “Don't get too hopeful, Felwinter. He’s women only.”

“Aw, shame,” Felwinter dropped back down in his seat, “Lucky for you eh?”

“Mm, no.” She shook her head and smiled, “Women only.”

“Aw, shame.” Felwinter gave her a lecherous smile and got elbowed in the ribs for his efforts.

“I called you over cause I wanted to thank you for defending us,” she said, sitting down at her work table, “Not many people are brave enough to challenge Isran directly like that.”

“It was no trouble. Really.”

“So I figured if we’re gonna be working together, I should know more about you.” She took a part of the disassembled crossbow and started to screw it onto the base, “Like where are you from?”

“High Rock,” he said, “Stormhaven specifically.”

“High Rock? You’re Breton?”

“Yeah, through my mother.”

“And your father?”

“Redguard, I would assume.” He shrugged, “I never met him. Got my mother pregnant and left.”

Sorine’s face fell. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, looking genuinely apologetic.

But Felwinter smiled. “It’s nothing really.”

“You know, Florentius is half Redguard,” Gunmar spoke up, clothed and leaning against the stone railing next to them, “Through his ma, he says. Pa’s an Imperial. Speaking of which, I apologize on his behalf for the whole ‘beast blood’ thing.”

Felwinter laughed, “Hey, it’s an asset now, isn’t it?”

Sorine jostled him again, “That it is. Now I won’t feel so guilty pushing you between me and a vampire in a fight.”

“I get the feeling you would do it anyway.”

“Well, yeah. But then I’d actually feel bad about it.” Gunmar snorted at that and broke down into almost childish laughter, bringing it out in the rest of them.

Gunmar was the one to calm down first. He was scratching his beard with a strange, thoughtful look on his face, “Hey Felwinter, you said…you said you never met your father, right?”

“Yeah, why?”

Gunmar shook his head, “No, nothing. I’m sure it’s nothing. It’s just…”

Their entire wing of the fort went quiet when Isran came marching in. He stomped past Felwinter without even sparing him so much as a glance. “You done setting up Gunmar?” He asked in that deep, guttural voice.

“Almost. Uh, Isran?”

“What is it?” He walked over to the shelf and started to pull books from it.

“You…passed through High Rock decades ago, did you not?”

“Really? We’re doing this again?” Felwinter asked.

Isran glared at him before answering, “That I did, what of it?”

“Well, it’s just that I remember you spoke about it and if I recall correctly…there was a woman?”

Isran narrowed his eyes, angered by the attempted intrusion into his private life and his past. But still he answered in the affirmative, “There was. Again, what of it Gunmar?

Gunmar’s eyes flicked over to Felwinter, who was staring at the stone ground. “That’s…nothing else. That’s all I wanted to-”

“What was the woman’s name?”

Felwinter’s quietly asked question shocked everyone into silence. Isran turned his glare onto him, “I don’t see how that is any of your bus-”

“No, no, no,” Felwinter muttered over and over, slowly standing up and shaking his head, “Just…answer the question. J-just…just, please.” Sorine’s screwdriver shot halfway across the table. Gunmar smelled ozone filling the area, like lightning was half seconds away from striking.

Felwinter took a deep, shuddering breath, “Please. Answer the question.”

Isran let out a loud exhale. “Drakon.” The single word echoed and seemed to amplify off the fort walls, “Delilah Drakon.”

Gunmar ran his hand through his hair, cursing himself. Sorine called Felwinter’s name. The Dragonborn did not answer or even so much as respond to the sound. He just stared wide and unblinking at Isran, with a silence and a stillness that put the dead to shame.

Florentius suddenly burst into the workspace, his sudden appearance making Gunmar jump and Sorine clutch at her chest. “I’ve finally realized my mistake!” He exclaimed, a victorious finger in the air, “Silly me, earlier I thought Arkay was saying that Isran sent the SUN to come to save me, the S-U-N!” He spelled out, marching further in and planting himself next to the Dragonborn, who still remained frozen to his spot. “That’s why I was so confused! But it was the other spelling!”

Gunmar frantically put his pointer finger to his lips and Sorine was waving her hand under her chin in a desperate attempt to get him to be quiet but to no avail.

“Felwinter, my friend,” he said, throwing a long arm around him, “Why didn’t you tell me you were Isran’s son?”

 

 

 

 

 


	18. Chapter Seventeen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felwinter boops Isran’s nose at Mach 2

“Gods damn man, how strong are you?!” Gunmar choked out as he and Florentius struggled to remain in place.

Both had dragged Felwinter to the opposite end of the atrium, away from Isran and had both his arms restrained. Even then, the man was work to hold. Unable to free his arms, Felwinter had simply resorted to dragging both men along with him.

“Let me go! Let me fucking go!” He practically roared as he took step after difficult step towards Isran, anger and hatred driving him. Any other time, Gunmar would comment on Felwinter getting more from his father besides his appearance but he had heard stories about the Dragonborn and his antics. The man was a mere whim away from dropping the building down on their heads.

Sorine came running in. “Here! I got the cuffs!”

None of them enjoyed the thought of cuffing and repressing the magic of the man who had showed them such kindness but it was an act of desperation. None of them saved Isran, who kept to the opposite side of the atrium, arms crossed and smirking at the man’s raging.

“Florentius, hit him with that spell! Paralyze him!” Felwinter’s arm slipped from Gunmar’s grip and the Nord threw himself forward to grab it again.

“I’m still not sure-”

“Damn it, man, do it!”

Florentius slammed his palm on Felwinter’s broad back. The man’s shoulders drooped with a groan. Florentius and Gunmar gently lowered him to the ground. Both men stumbled back in exhaustion.

“Move his arms, let me put the cuffs,” Sorine said, jogging closer.

“Can I catch my breath first?” Gunmar heaved, his age choosing the perfect moment to catch up with him.

“No, we have to do it now!” Florentius pushed himself off the fort wall.

“I thought that spell held for a good two minutes.”

“It holds regular people for a good two minutes! With him, we’d be lucky to get-”

Without any warning or tell, Felwinter was on his feet again, sprinting past Sorine and tackling Isran to the ground. He brought his large uninjured fist across Isran’s face, one after the other, punctuating each brutal hit with a yell.

His assault didn’t last long, however. Isran grabbed Felwinter’s arm as it came down across his face again and yanked it forward, throwing him off balance. Then Isran pushed himself up, rolling the two men over until Isran was on top.

Then suddenly, it was Isran doing the attacking, eyes wide with a rage none had seen in him before. He smashed his armored his on Felwinter’s face twice before the others were able to separate them again. The second hit sent a spray of dark blood across the floor.

Gunmar dragged a struggling Isran back while Florentius and Sorine attempted to pin Felwinter down again. But he was determined to give them a fight. He shoved them both off as before, twisting his arm from Sorine’s grip and shoved Florentius backwards. With an explosive Shout, Felwinter shot across the atrium. Before Isran could even put his arms up, Felwinter struck him hard. The sound of the impact mixed with the sound of bones cracking resonated across the atrium so loudly, Sorine’s nearly yelped. The force of the blow sent both Isran and Gunmar flying backwards to the hard ground.

Shaking off his surprise, Florentius ran up behind Felwinter’s and hit him with the spell again, putting his knee to Felwinter’s shoulder when he finally went down. 

* * *

“Hurry up, Baneius!” Isran growled.

“Will you settle down?” Florentius pressed his fingers around Isran’s nose, searching for the appropriate spots, “I only want to do this once.”

“I didn’t ask what you want, I told you to hurry-ARGH FUCK!!!” The big man roared when Florentius suddenly dug and twisted his nose into position with a wet crunch.

“I told you to settle down.”

Isran glowered at him. Florentius simply shrugged, slightly amused. “It’ll heal. We drained the blood. But this was the best I could do,” he said moving back, “Gonna be this severely crooked for probably the rest of your life though.”

Isran turned his rage filled gaze to behind Florentius, at Felwinter on the other side of the room. The man’s anger seemed to have finally been spent. His hands, feet and even mouth bound, Felwinter had just spent the last half hour staring at the ground.

Isran turned to the Nord next to him, “This is your fault, Gunmar.”

“In what way?” Gunmar crossed his arms.

“For not keeping your mouth shut!” Isran bit out, grimacing when Florentius pressed a bandage to a particularly sore spot.

“It was innocent questioning!” Gunmar argued defensively.

“He’s not the one who abandoned his kid, last I checked,” Florentius mumbled. Isran tried to jump at him but his knees buckled and he fell when Florentius deliberately squeezed the ruined nose.

“Give him a break, you guys.” Sorine had left Felwinter’s side and moved to stand at the center of the atrium between them. Felwinter’s head had come up. Now he was simply watching them. “It’s not like he knew. Right, Isran?”

Four heads turned in his direction. Isran only stared into the eyes of one and remained completely silent.

“Isran?” Sorine tried again, her pacifying smile falling. Still he remained silent.

“He knew. He’s known this whole time.” Felwinter’s voice rang out in the dead silence, “Mother told me that much.”

“It seems she did,” was all he said. Felwinter continued to watch him and the more he did, the more he could see what so many did before him. The same dark brown eyes, brown skin, dark hair, strong build. They even scowled the same. It was like looking in a fucking mirror and Felwinter would love nothing more than to shatter it.

“Felwinter,” Isran said, as if he was testing the name to see how it felt in his mouth, “Always wondered what she named you.”

“Why?” Felwinter’s voice was rough and guttural and full of pain.

Isran was almost taken aback. They even sounded the same. “Why what, boy?”

“WHERE WERE YOU?!” Felwinter shot up to his feet. Sorine and Gunmar jumped up to move between them again. His hands were clenched, his shoulders were raised like hackles and his pupils were shrinking. “Mother, she…she defended you at every turn. From her father, from her friends, from the other nobility. Fuck, even from me!” He stepped closer and Gunmar pushed against his chest to stop him, “You couldn’t even be bothered to show up or even fucking write.”

“Why should I, boy?” Isran rose to his feet, “I came to her at night, I gave her the company she sought and I went about my business. I promised her nothing more.”

“No. That’s a lie. She loved you,” Felwinter said, his voice nearly cracking. “Her father…he disowned her. We were kicked out of her home, we had to live in squalor for years!”

“How, in the gods’ names, is that my fault?!”

“You could’ve been there!” Felwinter roared, “For her! For…for-”

“What?” Isran asked, “For you?”

Felwinter mouth clamped shut. Isran threw back his head and laughed. “That…that is rich, boy!”

Felwinter blinked, a shocking amount of hurt in his eyes. Florentius, shocked by the man’s callousness, opened his mouth to say something before deciding against it.

“You walk and talk like you’re an adult but deep down, you’re little more than a scared little child, crying out for his father.” The venom in Isran’s tone could curdle blood and by the look on Felwinter’s face, he had his the nail on the head.

“Well allow me to put your false hopes to rest…”

A look of fear crossed Gunmar’s face. He put his hand up, “Isran, d-”

“Shut up!” Isran shouted him down. He turned back to Felwinter, “I had my own family a long time ago. A wife. A daughter. They were killed by vampires. Just like the one you’ve allowed to stay in our fortress. When that happened, when they were taken from me, I vowed to kill every vampire alive. To wipe the world clean of their filth. I’d be damned if some woman and her mutt bastard stopped me. I told her I would have nothing to do with you. I told her to get rid of you!”

Isran has been taking step after step towards Felwinter as he had talked. Now they were almost nose to nose. “But it seems she chose not to and I can tell you that she chose wrong. She should’ve terminated the pregnancy or dropped you off on some luckless, sentimental fool’s doorstep as soon as she could so you could be their burden instead of her’s and mine. But that changes nothing because as far as I’m concerned, Drakon, I only have one child,” he poked his finger in Felwinter’s chest, “You, boy. You are not my son.”

Sorine gasped and her hands covered her mouth. Gunmar cursed and even Florentius said Isran’s name in a tone of utter disbelief.

Isran ignored them and backed away, squaring his shoulders and preparing himself for another one of the Dragonborn’s outburst.

It never came. Felwinter took a single dazed step back as if he had been struck. His breathing became ragged and labored. Then he simply turned on his heels and walked out of the fort without word.

“Hmm.” The sound from above caught their attention. Serana stood above them where she had been watching the whole time. “And I thought my father was bad.”

“Why are you out of your room, monster?” Isran snarled.

“I’m not your prisoner, remember?” Serana asked, one perfect eyebrow arched, “Anyway, it’s funny. If it wasn’t for your whole thing against vampires, you and my father would get along quite well.” She shook her head, “You’re both fucking monsters who seem hellbent on destroying those close to them. One of you just has a marginally higher thirst for blood. The other just seems to feed off misery.”

“I am warning you right now, thing, watch your mouth!” Isran drew the long, heavy war hammer on his back, twisting it to let the blunt end hit the stone under his feet loudly.

But Serana just scoffed, “As if Felwinter needed any more reason to hurt you.”

“Truly, Isran.” Gunmar turned on him, anger and disbelief blazing in his eyes, “How could you say something like that to…anyone! Least of all Felwinter?!”

“You’re agreeing with this blood sucking filth?!”

“Yes, Isran! I am!”

Sorine shook her head, “It really does take the prospect of the world ending to put up with you, doesn’t it?” She rubbed her thumb under her eye before a tear could leak down, “Because I want nothing more than to fucking leave.” Hearing her curse was jarring.

Gunmar started for the door, “Sorine, Florentius, can you come with me? Maybe we can still get to him before he leaves the canyon.”

Sorine spared Isran one last glare before jogging after him. Florentius stared a bit longer before slowly walking past Isran towards the door. Then he stopped, turned and quietly said what had been on his mind before. “I still remember your wife. Your daughter, Isran. And both of them would be ashamed of you right now.”

Isran barely had time to curl his lip in a snarl when the wooden doors suddenly banged open as a ragged Agmaer and an Orsimer Dawnguard named Durak fell against it. “Isran! A large group of vampires is moving this way!” Durak said, “Its a battalion out there.”

“The sun doesn’t seem to be slowing them down sir,” Agmaer gasped breathless, “What do we do?”

“We defend the damn castle, that’s what we do.” Isran lifted his hammer into the other hand, “Everyone to the front lines!”

“Where’s Felwinter?” Serana called, having already ran down the stairs and into the atrium. Agmaer practically squawked and fumbled for his axe until Florentius stayed his hand. Serana asked again, “Well? Where is he?!”

“He’s…” Agmaer turned and ran back outside, looking for him. His jaw dropped and his horror filled eyes turned back towards them. “He’s at the front gate!”

“By himself?!” Gunmar cursed. “We need to move!”

Sure enough, there was what truly could only be described as a battalion. Forty to fifty something vampires armed literally to the teeth with blades and magic. They easily outnumbered every Dawnguard member at least two to one, more so if one didn’t count the raw recruits. Harkon was angry.

And just as Agmaer said, there was Felwinter. Unarmed and unarmored, swaying on his feet with what looked like a large, half finished bottle of liquor, standing in the narrow opening of the gate that separated the fort from outside.

One of the vampires suddenly ordered the group to stop. They obeyed immediately, with some of the heckling common of warriors itching for a fight. Felwinter watched them with bored, hooded eyes and continued drinking.

The lead vampire, an Altimer, bared his fangs in a mockery of a polite smile. “Good morning, friend!” Several vampires laughed at that.

“It’s alright at best,” Felwinter responded, words slurring.

The vampire smiled at that and rested his blade on his shoulder, “Since we’re done with the pleasantries, I’d like to get down to business.”

The Dragonborn hiccuped. “Most people like to talk more but I’m sure there’s a spare bed for us around here somewhere.”

“Tempting! Truly!” He laughed. Then he lifted his sword and let the blade point hit the ground. “But I’m here for Lord Harkon’s daughter. And, if I’m correct in believing you are Felwinter, Thane of Whiterun.” He pointed at him, “I am also here for your head.”

“Lord Harkon’s daughter?” Felwinter mocked with a snicker, “She has a name, you know.”

“Stop talking Felwinter,” Sorine seethed through clenched teeth. But she didn’t dare move for fear for Felwinter’s life.

“Look, Thane Felwinter.” The Altimer vampire became deadly serious, “Just give us the girl and come with us. Look at you. You’re alone. No armor, no weapons and you Redguards aren’t exactly known for your magic.”

Felwinter’s eyes narrowed when he said Redguard.

“You’re dying today either way. Your motley little crew of vampire hunters don’t have to as well.”

Felwinter jerked his thumb behind him. “If you like, you can have the other Redguard in my stead.” He could almost hear Isran’s eyes bulge out of their sockets and that gave him a tiny measure of satisfaction. Whether or not he’d actually let them, he was still deciding.

It’s not like Felwinter was his son.

“I have to decline. Orders are orders.”

“Shame!” Felwinter polishes off the rest of the burning liquor. “Since I’m not in the mood to fight you all one by one,” he slurred, “I figured we could do this whole thing another way. There’s this little thing I do with my kid when they don’t want to listen to me. Y’know because for all my bullshit, I try to be a halfway decent father to those little gremlins; those little lights of my life.”

Felwinter suddenly chucked the empty bottle over the crowd, stumbled back into an upright position and rolled his shoulders. “I'm not giving you Serana. What I am going to do is give you from the count of three to do exactly as I tell you.” The drunkenly loose, light look on his face disappeared and his eyebrows furrowed as he became deadly serious, “Surrender.”

One man ran forward with an enraged yell only to be yanked back by a comrade. Though they didn’t react, every other vampire there felt the same. How dare he?

Felwinter brought the face of his thumb up to his mouth. His teeth pinched through the skin, letting the dark blood drip down his hand. “Three.”

More weapons were drawn by the vampires. The same ringing of metal and presence of magic could be felt from the Dawnguard. Felwinter paid no mind to either. He let the blood drip further down his palm and pressed both of them together. The blood glowed softly between his hands then stopped. He slowly pulled his hands apart, stopping at a certain distance. “Two.”

“They’re going to kill him, Isran,” Gunmar warned.

“Good.”

Gunmar balked, “Isran!”

The Redguard turned on him, “He assaults me,he permanently disfigures me and now I have to save his life? Void take him for all I care!”

“He is your son!”

“No, he is not!”

Serana shoved her way between them, jogging the path down the castle stairs and pushing past Dawnguard soldiers. Hoping maybe she could stop this before he got hurt because of her.

Some of the vampires started to creep forward. A solid blue sphere of light appeared in the space between Felwinter’s hands, strands of energy drawing themselves into it. “One.”

Felwinter’s head rose to face the vampires. His teeth were bared, sharp and glimmering. A thick vein throbbed violently around his temple but the most discerning features were his eyes; they shone white hot, wisps of magic escaping into the air from them.

“Time’s up.” The sphere in the Dragonborn’s hands started to vibrate, humming with barely restrained power.

The vampire let out a long breath. Then he lifted his weapon, “Kill them all!!!” He cried, cheers joining his voice until their battle cry was drowned out by pounding footsteps as the vampires charged the front gate.

Felwinter slammed his hands together, crushing the orb between his palms. Then his body started to shine, blue, fiery magic wrapping around him like a cloak.

Serana realized what was happening before anyone else could. She stopped in her run and hurriedly threw herself behind cover, yelling for the closest Dawnguard warriors to do the same. Isran repeated the order at those in the back.

The Altimer leader crossed the distance between himself and Felwinter first. His sword still raised, he leapt high into the air and brought it over his head, down towards his opponent, this one fool who thought he could so easily oppose them alone.

Felwinter threw his arms out. The earth quaked with the sound of a resounding explosion as Felwinter detonated his spell. A massive shockwave of glimmering blue light blasted outward with Felwinter at its center. The Altimer’s scream of terror and shock was cut off as soon as it began when he was completely obliterated. The shockwave spread out, vampire after vampire exploding into a shower of light and dust as they found themselves caught in the blast. Trees blew backwards with the force of the blast and some were even felled. The short lived screams and terrified cries mixed up with the echo of the explosion and made for an ear piercing and blood chilling dirge for the recently deceased.

Serana waited for her ears to stop ringing before she dared peek out of cover. She slowly rose to her feet and took tentative steps out.

Felwinter still stood at the gate. His shoulders still raised and as tense as ever but he showed no signs of injury or exhaustion or even exertion.

Pieces of vampire littered the ground in front of him stretching a long way back. They were nothing more than piles of dust. There were still some body parts, a hand here, a foot there, even an intact vampire with only a one or two limbs missing.

But none were alive. In one spell, the man had wiped out the entire battalion his father had sent to find her. And he didn’t even look winded.

“Felwinter?” She called his name. His head turned towards her slowly. His eyes burned with a mix of conflicting emotions he couldn’t begin to get a handle on. “Felwinter, I…” she chose her words carefully, “I don’t know what it’s like, Felwinter. I’ve always known my father. Can’t say it was much better.”

Felwinter teetered slightly on the spot but said nothing. He was still hopelessly drunk.

“But you saw what happened.” Serana gestured to the still smoldering remains of her fellow vampires, “My father won’t stop unless we stop him.”

He hiccuped quietly and then stuck his hand out. “Then give me the Scroll so I can read it.”

“What? Felwinter, reading these things is incredibly dangerous!”

“Pfft. I’ve read one before. C’mon, give it here.” He reaches for it and she pulled back on instinct, causing him to almost teeter over.

“Felwinter…” she sighed, “Please. Let’s find someone. I know you’ve had a terrible day today. I don’t want to make it worse.”

He laughed loudly, the rude sound echoing across the canyon, “You honestly couldn’t, Serana. Trust me.” She folded her arms around herself and Felwinter’s heart fell. “Who do we find?” He asked softly.

“A Moth Priest. They’re trained for this but they live all the way in Cyrodiil. I was thinking…maybe…maybe we should go back to the castle-” Felwinter’s pupils started to shrink, “-And…ask the others,” she finished meekly, looking away.

Felwinter’s gaze shifted from her to the castle. The four of them were still there, watching them and quietly talking amongst themselves. Except Isran, who just watched.

Felwinter closed his eyes and let out a long exhale. He jerked his chin in the direction of the castle. “Let’s go.”

“And Felwinter, when we’re done, I know you don’t plan on coming back unless it’s absolutely necessary,” she said, “So I’d like to go with you. And…I’ll be honest, I don’t feel to safe without you here so-”

“I have a house in Riften,” he said, starting in the direction of the castle, “It’s empty since I didn’t ask the Jarl for a Housecarl. You can stay there.”

For the first time today or maybe even since they met, Serana smiled. A bright and beautiful thing, he couldn’t help but smile back.

* * *

“Shit, Fel…shit,” Moth cursed. His hand ran up Felwinter’s back and squeezed his neck, “I’m sorry, love.”

“You did good messing up his nose like that, Felwinter,” Ghorza said, standing to clear away the mugs.

Argis lifted his own in a salute, “Here’s hoping he suffocates in his sleep.”

“Not a fighter honestly. Or that keen on violence,” Tacitus said. Then he lifted his cup to tap Argis’, “But I’ll drink to that.”

Felwinter snorted out a laugh. Things were cleared away, goodbyes were said and condolences were offered. Argis turned in, leaving Felwinter and Moth alone

Moth walked to him and put his hand on his lower back, guiding him to the bedroom. “Finally got that blood magic thing down huh?” He asked.

Felwinter brought up his arm and wrapped it around the Orsimer’s shoulders. “Took some doing but yeah, I did.”

“What was that spell you used? To kill the vampires?”

“That spell book chest that was meant for Winterhold called it Blue Giant. Incredibly effective against the undead.”

“I could tell.”

“But if I’m gonna be working with Serana, I doubt I’ll be able to use it very often,” he pointed out.

“Make sure she hides first.”

He chuckled, “I will.”

Moth closed the giant brass doors to their room, unbuttoned and pulled off his shirt. He could Felwinter doing the same before he spoke. “You know, it took a very long time for me to accept my father wanting nothing to do with me.”

Candles started to snuff out on their own one by one, “I hated myself at first. My father refused to even show his face, my grandfather saw me as an offense to his lineage and family name and to my mother, I was a burden, even if she never admitted it. When my grandfather died, my mother didn’t even attend his funeral,” he said, “We made our way to to the offices of inheritances and within the afternoon, she had reinstated herself as heir to his assets and his estate. One afternoon, Moth, we went from living in the slums to a mansion. Can you believe that?”

Moth sat down on the bed and started to unlace his boots. “If she’s anything like you describe, I can.”

“Can’t help but wonder where she would be if I wasn’t there to drag her down,” he murmured mostly to himself.

“Felwinter, you know she doesn’t see you like that.”

“She’s never admit it, much less out loud, of course.” He waved his hand, “She’s not the type to callously destroy her child’s self esteem. She’s a good mother. She’s not…” he stopped and just glared at the ground.

Moth stood up from his side of the bed and went to sit down next to him, a hand squeezing his leg. “When you’re not staring abject poverty in the face, it’s easier to work on yourself. I finally accepted it. My father wanted nothing to do with me and I no longer have a damn about him. I wasn’t going to suffer for some stranger any more.”

“Now suddenly, my father shows up,” he says, voice weakening, “He shows up and with a few words, destroys everything I’ve done to bring myself up.” He put his head down. Tears fell onto Moth’s hand, still on his leg, “In that moment, I was seven years old again. My mother had just barely managed to pull me from that prison and I was begging to know why my father didn’t want me. That whatever I did, I’m sorry and I’ll never do it again. I…I” the tears cane harder now as the man struggled to take in air.

Moth pulled him into his chest, held him tightly as the sobbing worked its way into the open. He prayed to Malacath that he never met the man who made his love cry because his hands were itching to feel someone’s blood running over them again.

Felwinter was a good man. He didn’t deserve this. No one did. 


	19. Chapter Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Mmm, cheese."

Felwinter scratched his beard, shifting his leg up higher so he could use it to write. He took the pen from his mouth and distractedly said, “Again.”

The Dremora Lord roared and charged Athis, blade raised and serrated edge glittering in the sunlight. The Dunmer tucked and rolled, slashing his sword across the Daedra’s calf and kicking it over when it stumbled. He then jumped at the Dremora with a yell and landed on its back, pinning it before jamming his blade into the back of its neck.

“You know it let you do that, right?” Felwinter asked, not even looking up. He balled up the paper he was writing on and incinerated it, letting the ash float from his hand. “I use that move all the time.”

“Does it matter?” Athis huffed, blue skin dark with exertion, “It’s still dead.”

Felwinter snapped his fingers in the direction of Jorvaskrr’s training field, beckoning another Dremora into their world. “Again. With some originality this time.”

“Harbinger,” he heard from behind.

“Busy, Vilkas.”

“Yes, I see that.” Felwinter heard the creak of a wooden chair as Vilkas sat down, “You know, the other Companions might benefit more if you were out there sparring with them instead of…” he gestured to Athis, who had just managed to scrabble to his feet after being knocked on his ass, “Demons.”

“If they can’t beat a Dremora, Vilkas, just what hope do they have against me?

“Athis has beat that thing three times,” Vilkas pointed out. Then he heard a pained cry and a gargled choke, “Four times,” he corrected.

“Drills upon drills. Familiarity, blah blah blah.” Another sheet of parchment exploded in a flash of light. At the same time, another Dremora appeared and Athis groaned loudly, “In truth, its just to keep him from starting a fight with Njada. I swear to every god, one day, I’m going to chain them both in a bedroom together with nothing but a bottle of wine and a book on the Dibellan arts.”

“Okay, please stop.” Vilkas shook his head, already starting to forget what he came here for, “What’s the letter for, Felwinter? You seem distracted by it.”

“No, this,” he waved the pen at the busy training ground, “This is the distraction. Distracting me from this. It’s…” Fel stopped, his shoulders slumping. “It’s a letter to my mother. I met my father.”

Vilkas blinked and stuttered in shock, “I…wow, that’s…” he took in the stormy look on Felwinter’s face, “That’s not good, I take it.”

“He told me he wanted nothing to do with me,” he said, balling up another piece of paper. The incineration of this draft was much more forceful than the others. Powerful enough for Vilkas to feel the heat against his own skin. “He didn’t mince words either.”

“How are you?”

“It’s been a few weeks so.” He shrugged but his voice was noticeably weaker, missing it’s usual power and force. “I would normally give him what he wants and leave him alone but he runs the Dawnguard and the vampire crisis is…a lot bigger than we expected. They need my help. I need theirs.”

“The great Dragonborn needs help! Put it in the history books.” Felwinter narrowed his eyes but gave Vilkas what he wanted; a small smile.

It was rare to see the man at such a loss for words. Aside from his incredible talent for magic and swordsmanship, Felwinter was rather renowned for his sharp tongue; a tongue Vilkas had found himself on the wrong end of many times since the man had dragged himself from Riverwood to Whiterun drunkenly raving (not talking) about dragons because he decided that news of a town being wiped off the map could wait until he had gotten himself a drink or six.

When he returned from The Rift and his meeting with the Dawnguard, Vilkas remembered him barely talking to anyone. Short, unenthusiastic sentences as replies and that was just when he spoke at all. It was some time before Vilkas finally figured out that he didn’t need to talk, not right now. What he needed was to let all his anger and frustration out; be so tired that he couldn’t think and the all the possible words he could say to his mother drained from his head until he had the ones he needed.

The Nord jerked his head towards the training field, “Take a break from it. Let’s hit each other a little bit.”

Felwinter rubbed his chin, pretending to consider it. “I do enjoy hitting you. Athis! Take a break!” Felwinter’s Dremora, who had him in a vicious headlock, spontaneously disappeared and he fell to the ground in a cloud of dust.

Vilkas walked over to one of the weapon racks and lifted two of the massive training greatswords out, each with a single arm. Felwinter frowned at the weapon, “You know I use one handers,” he said, grabbing the hilt anyway.

“No magic and you could use the practice.” Vilkas took a few easy test swings. Under the shade, a crowd of Companions, new and old, was already forming. Even Eorlund seemed to start paying them more attention. “Aye, what do you say, Harbinger? Let’s give them a show.”

Felwinter’s eyes brightened and he stuck his blade in the ground. His hands quickly scrambled to the edge of his shirt and he started to pull it over his head.

“Ah! Not that kind of show!”

He froze, angling his body so that he could give Vilkas his famous puppy eyes. Not nearly as effective as Farkas’ but combined with the ridiculous position his body was in, it was enough. Vilkas sighed, “Fine!”

The pleading look turned to expectant, complete with waggling eyebrows.

Vilkas glowered for a second before he impatiently ripped off his own, tossing it behind him. Aela whistled loudly and despite his annoyance and the cold, he felt the blush creep up his neck.

Felwinter tossed his at the crowd, complete with a wink and a flex of one of his pectorals, the fucking showman. Athis pretended to swoon and faint into Njada’s lap. The crowd erupted into a fit of laughter, some of them fanning the Dunmer with their hands.

“I want that back when we’re done!” Felwinter said, walking back to his weapon. Vilkas smiled, already knowing he wouldn’t because of whose hand reached up and caught it.

Felwinter only managed to realize it a second later. “Wait, who has my shirt? Is it Farkas? Farkas, I want that back!”

Farkas threw the shirt around his neck and held onto it with both hands, shaking his head no. He was going to enjoy his new sweat rag to the fullest.

Felwinter cursed and finally lifted up his blade again. He took his stance, feet wide and planted deep. He took one more look at the crowd and grinned. “You were right, Vilkas. This was what I needed.”

“We haven’t even started.”

“No, I mean,” he poked his chin out to the Companions, “This.”

Vilkas smiled, “You’ll be alright?”

“I will be.”

“You ready then?”

“Show me what you’ve got.”

* * *

Moth dipped the red hot metal bar into the cold pool of water, waving his hand to dissipate the steam from his face. He bent close to the pool, examining the bar under the clear water when he heard familiar footsteps approaching. He straightened up, “Felw- where’s your shirt?”

“Farkas won’t give it back,” he said sullenly, crossing his arms over his naked chest.

“Ah.” Moth lifted the bar out, “Have you tried fighting him?”

“I lost.”

“You mean you didn’t cheat in someway.” Moth placed the rod inside the flames to heat it up again.

Felwinter shrugged and grinned, “It’s good for his self esteem.”

“You’re a good man, you know that?” Felwinter waved his compliment away, like he always did. One could call him handsome, intelligent, powerful all they wanted and he’d be singing his own praises all day. But call him a good man and he’d deflect and deny to no end.

“Your axe is going to need more time, Fel.” Moth placed the rod of red hot Ebony on the surface of the anvil, “Still haven’t told me why you need it. You’ve always been a sword man.”

He just shrugged, “It’s a surprise.”

“Or why it needs to be Ebony when you have access to Dragon bones.”

“Still a surprise.”

“Or why you needed me to make it for you in Adrienne’s forge.” Moth lifted the hammer over his head and brought it down hard. Then again and again and again. “Is that a surprise too?”

“No, that’s for my own…personal viewing pleasure.” Felwinter leaned against one of Warmaiden’s wooden support beams, eyes following the movement of his husband’s arms. “So um...when do you get off work, sweet thing?”

Warmaiden’s door banged open. Adrienne stomped out into the sun, hand resting on her mace. “Moth, is this man bothering you?”

Felwinter made a show of looking offended. “Me? Bother? Adrienne, I am the least annoying person alive!”

A nearby guard let out a laugh and coughed roughly to disguise it.

“I know this and I love you.” She affectionately ran her hand through his mohawk, causing him to duck with a yelp and try meticulously to fix it.

“You headed somewhere, Adrienne?” Moth resumed his hammering.

“I gotta head to Arcadia’s,” she said, starting to walk away.

“Somebody hurt?”

“My husband due to his inability to keep hammers away from his fingers.”As if on cue, a loud yell and a plethora of curses rang out from her home. Felwinter ran up to the house, stuck his head through the door and cackled rudely, making sure Ulfberth heard him.

“Don’t you have anything better to do, Felwinter?”

“I’ve been thinking of heading to Markarth. The silver mines are opening up again but people don’t trust the Silver-Bloods.”

“Can’t blame them,” Moth grumbled.

“Since Thonar went, got himself killed and left his rights of the mine to me-”

“Since you illegally edited his will,” Moth muttered.

“Something which has yet to be proven,” Felwinter shot back, “Thongvor wants me as the public face and the business front. The mines won’t be a prison anymore.”

“Alright,” Moth started to put his forging tools away, “What else?”

Fel shrugged, “Check on the College in person. Help Adrienne with her roof. Head to the Thieves Guild. And, I don’t know,” his voice lowered, “Probably check on the Blades as well.”

“The Blades?” Moth rose and threw the heavy pack around his shoulder, “Is that a good idea? If the Greybeards find out-”

“They won’t find out.” Felwinter waved his hand dismissively, “Too busy with the sky and the sound of their own voices to pay attention to us common folk.”

“And even then, I doubt they want to see you again without news of Paarthurnax being dead.”

Felwinter held the door open as Moth walked through, “I just want to make sure Erik and Eltrys are doing alright. Especially Eltrys since what happened with Madanach pretty much uprooted his life.”

“That’s a lot to do. Aren’t you busy here?”

“Not really.”

“How’s that letter, Felwinter?” His voice was harsh; biting.

Felwinter’s eyebrows shot up and his mouth became a thin line. Moth groaned silently, berating himself mentally for his tone. He dropped the bag on the table and turned to him, “Felwinter…”

“No, no, you’re right,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck and starting to walk away. “I should…get on it.”

“No, Felwinter, listen.” Moth grabbed his shoulder and turned him back and wrapped an arm around his waist. Felwinter immediately leaned into him. “The letter can wait. You’re right, you should take a break from it. I’m sure you’re sick of thinking about Isran-”

“Bald asshole,” he snarled reflexively.

“Exactly.”

Felwinter leaned in and pressed his mouth to Moth’s forehead, “Should’ve taken that hammer to his forehead.”

Moth chuckled against his neck. “Put that in your letter. Your mother would love to read that.”

“Mmh no,” he hummed, “Then she’d just remind me that his forehead is my forehead.”

“Is his that big too?”

Felwinter snorted and shoved Moth away.

* * *

“Drakon! Welcome back!” Delvin all but cheered, raising his cup in greeting.

“Mallory!” Felwinter cheered back, “You’re loud.” He snatched the cup out of his hand and drained it before letting it clatter back onto the table, “I’m not carrying you home again. Slow down.”

“Oi, I can hold my drink just fine!” Delvin snatched the cup back up and tilted it to his lips. He pulled it back, confused as to why nothing came out, even shaking the cup for good measure.

Felwinter watched the display with narrowed eyes before looking up at Vekel at the bar and shaking his head to signal that Delvin was done.

“Felwinter.” Tonilia clutched his shoulder in greeting before taking the seat across from Delvin. “Haven’t seen you here in awhile. Mercer’s not happy about that.”

“Oh, when the fuck is Mercer ever happy?” Felwinter stuck his leg out behind him, hooked his foot under the leg of a chair and dragged it to the front of him. He dropped down with a grunt and lifted his feet up, dropping both onto the table with a bang.

Delvin stared at him, blurry eyed and slack jawed, “Aye, ‘ow you do that with no hands?”

“I’m serious, Felwinter.” She paused to smile at Vekel as he came by to drop two mugs of ale in front of her and Felwinter. Delvin sluggishly reached for Felwinter’s, falling over on the table when it was snatched away, “He thinks you’re not...committed.”

“Well, seeing as I’m only here because of Maven, he’s right. And I’m only here until Maven sees fit to let me go or,” he paused to take a sip his drink, “I take care of the problem.”

Tonilia folded her smooth hands under her chin, “Yes, I’ve heard of how you take care of problems. Thonar Silver-Blood-”

Fel’s mug paused halfway to his lips. “Was not me, I keep saying it. I was nowhere near him when he met his untimely and well deserved demise.”

“But the Brotherhood?”

“That was all me. I am glad to admit it.” She smiles at his hubris; the way his foot started to rock back and forth on the table.

Delvin, still head down on the table, groaned loudly enough to catch the attention of a few other patrons. “I miss Astrid.”

Felwinter’s drink went down wrong. “You knew Astrid?” He coughed.

“He and Astrid had…a thing,” Tonilia said, “Before she got married, of course. Did you two ever-”

“Nope!” He said a little too loudly, “Anyway, Delvin, you and Astrid. Was there…you know…something?”

The Breton burst out in rude laughter, “Oh yeah, there was something alright! The way she felt, crushed between me and a mattress was definitely something. Or the floor. Or the wall! I think I remember a bush one time…”

“And with that, I’m leaving.” Just as Tonilia stood up with her mug, the cistern door banging opening drew everyone’s attention. Vex and Brynjolf walked into the Ragged Flagon or rather Vex stomped and Brynjolf had to nearly jog to keep up with her. They were arguing in a tone too low for even Felwinter to hear.

Brynjolf did a double take when he saw him followed by a slightly strained smile. “Lad, you’re here! We’ve got to ta-”  

“Mercer wants to see you,” Vex cut off, taking her usual place against the stack of crates. Behind them, Galathil winced at the loud creaking.

Felwinter stood and clasped Brynjolf’s forearm in greeting. “Wanna bet I can guess what it’s about?”

“I already told him why Mercer isn’t happy with him,” Tonilia called out from the bar. Felwinter raised his arms in questioning. The Redguard just smiled sweetly.

“Mercer feels you haven’t been pulling your weight here, lad,” Brynjolf explained.

“What ‘weight’? I’m never here.”

The Nord crossed his arms. “Well, someone’s been inside your house for the last few nights. You saying that’s not you?”

“She’s a friend-” Vex groaned loudly, “Just a friend, Vex!” He yelled, punctuating her name. “She needed a place to stay and I never use the place anyway so-”

“You buy houses just to have them?”

“Not all of us are broke, Vex.”

Her eyes bulged at the snipe and despite himself, Felwinter could only smile.

“If we can get back on track.” Felwinter held Vex’s acidic gaze for a second longer before turning back to Brynjolf, “Look, Felwinter, we know why you’re here and we know you never wanted to be. But pissing Mercer off is almost as bad as pissing Maven off. It does you no favors to shirk both of them except when you feel like it.”

Felwinter’s eyes rolled up into his head and his lip started to curl up into a snarl. “There’s a job Mercer wants done,” Brynjolf told him, a hand on his arm to pull him back, “I recommended you. It’s a big deal but I’m sure you’ll get it done.”

He growled deep in his throat. He didn’t like it but he joined the Guild for a reason and getting kicked out did nothing to serve this reason. “Where do I get the info?”

Brynjolf jerked his head At the tunnel leading to the cistern, beckoning Felwinter to follow him. “Talk to Mercer. He’ll tell you what you want to know.” He pushed open the door and gestured for Felwinter to enter.

“Drakon!” Mercer Frey’s voice echoed across the cistern. Every head turned in his direction.

The door creaked as Brynjolf closed it. “Good luck, lad.”

Felwinter sighed and made his way to Frey’s desk, taking the time to greet everyone on his way. Frey was glaring daggers by the time he finally made it to the Guildmaster’s table. “So you deigned yourself to make an appearance.”

“Well when you put it like that, you make me sound like a bit of a self obsessed egomaniac,” Felwinter said, taking one of Mercer’s pens and twirling it around his fingers. “Not saying you’re wrong but-”

“There is an artifact,” Mercer harshly cut off, “Daedric in origin. You’re a mage. You need to find it, ensure its safety and bring it back. Maven wants it.”

“And what Maven wants, you get it, huh?”

Mercer’s lips curled up into a bitter smile, “No, friend. _You_ get it. Or die trying.” The smile disappeared as quickly as it came, “It’s in Solitude, within the Jarl’s palace. You have a week to get it and bring it back.” He waved his thin hand, “See yourself out.”

Felwinter gave the Breton a mock bow complete with an exaggerated flourish of arms, earning himself an even deeper scowl with some slight grumbling under the breath, much to his delight.

But Felwinter didn’t bother to respond to what was said. The day Mercer Frey decided he would make good on his threats, he was fully welcome to try.

Until then, Felwinter left him to his mumbling.

* * *

Several knocks against the wooden door roused Sybille Stentor from her reading. She stood up quietly, grimacing slightly when the her chair scraped the wooden floor. She pulled the cover from her bed and quickly wrapped it around her shoulders.

She pulled the door open slowly. “Yes?”  She asked, affecting a sleepy tone. She’s done this before; pretending to sleep at night when you didn’t need to became so easy after a little while.

The young, long haired blonde Nord in Solitude’s guard colors blinked twice before remembering what he had come to do. He put his fist to his chest and bowed his head. “Athar requests your presence in the dungeons, Lady Stentor.”

The mage narrowed her eyes, “It’s not even dawn yet. What is so important?” she snapped.

The young man, practically a boy, judging by the patchy facial hair, jumped slightly, “My lady, Thane Felwinter Drakon has come to Solitude.”

“Has he now?” Already, a list of his possible antics started to run down in her head.

The guard nodded nervously, “Yes, ma’am. He came in with a...body over his shoulder. Said it was a vampire. Then he asked for you, saying that the vampire would have information you needed on the whereabouts of others.”

If her eyes narrowed any further, they would close. “Did he now?” She stopped faking the sleepy tone.

The young man looked like he was a simple startle from soiling himself. “Y-yes, ma’am.” He let out a shuddering sigh, “That is all, Lady Stentor. I can escort you if you wish.”

She hummed in response, closed the door and reappeared several minutes later, robes on. “Lead on then,” she ordered, “And do stop slouching in your armor or you’ll walk like that permanently.” The young man’s spine straightened so quickly, it cracked. She closed her room door, locked it and beckoned the man to lead on.

Felwinter waited around the corner on the far opposite end of the hall. He listened to their footsteps, tracking when the two got to the stairs, when they went down and when they finally left the the palace. Only then did he breathe. Not that the leather helped him in that regard.

He checked the area before willing a slight bit of magic into the Daedric markings permanently etched into his right arm. In the darkness of the hall, they shone out for just a quick second before dimming. Sanguine’s Rose manifested in his fist. A bit of magic pushed into the staff, a bit a magic into his markings, another flash and the stave was gone, replaced by the knife formerly belonging to Astrid.

He rounded the corner as silently as his size would allow. When he got to Stentor’s door, he tapped the locked handle.

A few seconds passed; nothing. Them he heard the telltale sound of the door unlocking and the door slowly creaked open. “Valkynaz, friend, pleasure as always.” Felwinter smiled as he pushed past the stoic, unsmiling Dremora into Sybille’s quarters, taking Sanguine’s Rose from him.

Felwinter has been surprised Sybille didn’t hear the assassin’s blade fly over her head and embed itself in her wall. Astrid’s silencing enchantments were still going strong. After, the rest was simple. Activate the stave, make it switch places with the knife inside the room and just wait for the Dremora to open the door.

The plan to get her out of her quarters was pure luck. Back in Riften, Serana expressed feelings of unease. No definite cause for concern but she still asked him to check for her.

Three vampires, out within the dense wooden areas of the Rift. Not Harkon’s people but still a threat, keeping to the shadows and wearing the clothing of their recent victims in the hopes of ambushing anyone they could lure too close. Anyone such as him.

One remained by the time Felwinter had finished with them. It was then the idea had occurred to him. He had tossed the unconscious man over his shoulder and walked him past the guards, into Riften; using the same combination of magic, alcohol and deceit he’s used to walk other bodies through cities.

Felwinter pulled on his gloves, ensuring that they were on nice and tight. He couldn’t afford to leave a single piece of evidence of his or the Dremora’s presence. The Thieves Guild armor had been enchanted to hide any sign of his presence and he had already started whispering the incantations that slowly but completely drained residual magic left over from the spells.

A sudden prick in the back of his mind caused him to pause and spin around, as if someone had suddenly spoken in his ear. Next to Sybille’s bed was a chest and inside the chest was _something_. Something that caused the hairs on his neck to straighten towards the ceiling and made him feel the need to roll tension out of his shoulders that was not even there.

He rolled his neck uncomfortably. Was he being watched? Why did he feel like he was being watched? Why did it feel like the chest was the one watching him?

Felwinter finished clearing the magic in the room away quickly and went to kneel before the chest. It might have not even held his goal but he needed to know what was inside.

The lock was easy enough to pick open without compromising its structure. Inside was…exactly what Mercer had described. A small, round statue with faint Daedric runes etched into the base.

Felwinter lifted up to the dim candlelight. He couldn’t begin to guess how old it was, it was so marred with age. On what he guessed was its front, Felwinter could just barely make out teeth and the curve of lips under it. A smile or a grin, to be more accurate.

This small, unassuming statue radiated with power. Even if he were stealing it for Maven, he started to question if it was safe to give someone something like this.

Fel stashed the statue before closing Stentor’s chest. Out the room, out of the castle and into Solitude’s quiet night. He had finally relaxed but…something was still watching him.

* * *

“I hope you realize how strange this is, Felwinter,” Adrienne called up to him, her arms crossed over her chest.

On the back half of Warmaiden’s roof, Felwinter paused in his hammering and took the nails from his teeth, “In what way? I’ve been meaning to help you fix this hole in your roof for days now.”

“Ah see, that’s the problem. You helping people and you admitting that you want to help people.” She shrugged, “I’m just going to assume that Ulfberth is paying you because he doesn’t want to go near another hammer.”

“Well, he’s not,” he called down.

“Well that’s what I choose to believe. The world makes more sense that way.” She waved at him as he started to walk away.

“You gotta see the good in people, Adrienne!” He yelled from her roof, “You’ve gotta stop being so cynical!” He said, laughing when she made a rude gesture at him from across the town.

Felwinter finished hammering in the last plank. “Lydia, I’m coming down. Hold the ladder.”

“Okay, okay, Thane. Slow down.” He was already on it by the time she could even scramble for it.

Her arm knocked into it, jostling the ladder and knocking Felwinter entirely off balance. He cursed, his hands flying out to the side in an attempt to balance himself. When he threw his arms forward, hoping to catch the bar, he was met with empty air.

Felwinter jerked and snorted awake, blinking his eyes and trying to adjust to the sight of Breezehome’s ceiling. He yawned, stretching his arms over his head and grinning when he heard the pop in his shoulders.

He rolled out of the bed, cleaning his teeth, dressing quickly and wondering if Moth had already eaten for the morning. His jog to the door was stopped short by the sight of the artifact on the table. He blinked and moved closer. Did it always have eyes? Was he that tired last night?

He pulled open the door, took one last look and then started making his way to the stairs. Sitting at the dining table, Moth turned at the sound of his footsteps and wordlessly raised a second mug up to him. Felwinter took it from his hand and kissed the side of his head; one of those big, wet ones that Moth claimed to hate but never stopped him from doing.

“Moth!” The front door slammed open. Moth jumped in surprise and Felwinter almost tipped over him.

Lydia stomped in, flushed and huffing, “Moth, something’s wrong with-” she took one look at Felwinter and froze.

Felwinter smiled nervously and lifted the mug. “Morning, Lydia.”

“You.” She pointed a trembling finger at him, “You ass!!!” She stomped towards him, crossing the entire living room in a few long strides.

“Hey! Lydia!” He ducked behind Moth, putting his husband between him and his encroaching death.

“Did you really think that was funny?” She yelled, her face becoming even redder.

“What did I do?!”

“Warmaiden’s roof!” She waved her arm frantically at the door, “You fell off and you just…disappeared!”

“I…what?!”

“Felwinter just woke up, Lydia.” Moth kept a calm, even tone in the face of their screaming.

“I know what I saw!”

“You know,” Felwinter said, “That sounds exactly like the dream I just had.”

Both Moth and Lydia paused before Moth turned himself around. “Describe the dream, Felwinter. In detail.”

He struggled to pull the memories to the surface, their staring helping none. “I was on Warmaiden’s roof, fixing the patches that I may or may not have caused.”

“You and Adrienne were talking before she left to meet Ulfberth at the market,” Lydia picked up from where he started, describing his dream in frightening detail, “You went too fast for the ladder and when I tried to grab it-”

“I tipped backwards, fell over, hit the ground and…” Felwinter paused, beckoning her to finish his story.

“Then you disappeared!”

“Then I woke up.”

There was half a minute of silence before Moth grumbled under his breath. “Can’t have one normal day. Lydia, go show him where it happened.” When Felwinter reached for the mug again, Lydia grabbed him by his shirt and ignored his protests as she dragged him towards the door.

* * *

“Here.” She stomped up to the exact spot where he had hit the ground. It was exactly how Felwinter dreamed it. The ladder leaning askew against the roof, the exact same hammer in the grass. There was even a spot in the grass where he supposedly had landed.

He squat down before the spot, “Lydia, how long did you say we were out here?”

“A good hour before now.” She squat next to him and lowered her voice, “Thane, what is going on?”

“Look, I don’t know. I swear I was just sleep-”

“Felwinter, my friend! Didn’t expect you to get here so quick! Thought you were heading straight to Winterhold.” Felwinter and Lydia both shot up and turned to see Anoriath jogging up to him. “My brother and I just got here ourselves. This big bastard was heavy.” He gestured towards the entrance at his brother, Elrindir, and some of the guards dragging a very large and very dead elk into the city.

Felwinter gaped, eyes swiveling between the Bosmer and the dead animal, “I, uh-”

“Again, thank you for helping us take it down. I’m almost embarrassed that it gave us so much trouble!” Anoriath smiled shyly, running his hand over his hair, “I’ll let you know once we get everything off it stripped so you can take your part. Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“G-glad to help!”

“Anoriath, a moment.” The man had turned and began walking back before Lydia’s voice stopped him, “If I may ask, when did you all go out hunting?”

“Oh, at first it was just me and my brother. But then Felwinter just showed up around an hour and a half ago and helped us corner and kill it.” His eyes ran over the two, “Is everything alright? You two look…really nervous.”

“Fine!” Felwinter answered a bit loudly. He lowered his voice, “Everything’s just fine. Get ahold of me or Moth whenever you’re ready.”

Just as Anoriath started to jog back to his kill, Lydia’s hand wrapped around Felwinter’s arm and started to drag him away. “Felwinter, we need to tell Moth. Now.” Both ran back to Breezehome, Felwinter nearly kicking in the door. Moth was in the same place as before, arms resting on the table and seemingly deep in thought.

His eyes slowly turned towards the door. Lydia closed and locked it behind them when they were in. “Moth, we’ve got a problem.”

“Is it magic copies of you?”

Felwinter was taken aback. “I…what?!”

Heavy footsteps slowly came down the stairs. “Hey, Moth, have you seen-” Felwinter got to bottom of the steps and froze.

Felwinter at the door found himself equally paralyzed.

Lydia ran her hands through her hair. “Oh gods, above and below,” she moaned in shock.

The copy spun around and broke into a run up the stairs. Felwinter was on his tail in an instant. Felwinter knocked bodied him into the wall and fell with it just outside his bedroom door. He rose up and dropped his entire weight on the copy’s back, pinning him to the ground.

“Gods damn it, let go of me!” The copy struggled viciously in his grip but to no avail. Felwinter put his palm to his back and paralyzed him with a spell.

The copy, or whatever it really was, was the spitting image of Felwinter himself. The same dark skin, same tall, broad stature, the same black mohawk along the center of his head. Even his short sleeves revealed the Daedric tattoos on it’s arm.

Moth’s and Lydia's footsteps came up behind him. Felwinter raised his right hand and the assassin’s knife appeared. The clone’s eyes bulged in shock and terror. “Who are you?”

“What do you mean, ‘who am I’, I’m Felwinter!” The copy’s body started to shake slightly as the spell slowly wore off. “Moth! Lydia, who is this person? Get him off me!”

A thought seemed to flash in Moth’s eyes. “Get him off yourself.”

“What?!”

“You heard him.” Felwinter leaned down, “Get me off yourself.”

“I-I can’t!” His body was shaking even more now, “I don’t have any weapons!”

“That hasn’t mattered for months now!” Felwinter brought the knife closer to the copy’s neck, “Where did you just come from?”

“Markarth, he said.” Moth circled around them and squat down to get a better look at his face, “To check on the silver mines.”

“Yes, like I said I would do two days ago!” The copy yelled, voice muffled by the floor, “Just…let me up, alright? Let’s talk about this.”

“Where else have you been? Warmaiden’s? Riften? Whiterun’s plains?” Felwinter demanded

“Warmaiden’s? No! I haven’t been anywhere else but Markarth!”

“Did anyone else leave this house? Through the door? The portal?” Moth asked.

“I…no. Nobody did.” He didn’t sound nearly as sure. “I’ll be honest, this morning is a blur. I just remember arriving in Markarth.”

“Thane, what is this?” Lydia reached over his head towards the statuette on the table when the copy under Felwinter suddenly screamed, “Don’t touch that!”

She paused and looked between the statue and the clone. “Why not?”

“Yeah, why not?” Felwinter demanded, “What does it do?”

“I don’t know! Creep me out, that’s what it does. Just don’t touch it!”

He wasn’t sure of it this morning but he definitely was now. This thing had eyes and it didn’t before. Simple, dull white lights. It’s features were significantly more defined than Felwinter remembered from the night before. Most prominent was its mouth; a massive, toothy grin.

Felwinter turned to Lydia and jerked his head at the statue, beckoning her to pick it up. She reached over again, slowly. “No! No, Lydia! Don’t you dare! I’ll fucking kill you! Don’t you dare!” The hair on the copy’s head started to flatten down and his body started to grow bigger under Felwinter. His eyes flashed an animalistic gold.

Felwinter jabbed the knife into his neck. The clone made one choking sound before vanishing in a flash of dull white light.

With Moth’s help, Felwinter rose to his feet and approached the statue. What appeared to be eyelids lowered over the lights, stopping only part way. “Felwinter. What…is this?”

He reached out and stopped, almost afraid to touch it. “I don’t know. All I know is that it did not look like that before. It barely had a mouth let alone eyes.” Felwinter backed away from it and sat down on the edge of the bed, “Whatever it is, it’s causing all of this. It… _copied_ me.”

Lydia sat down, making sure to pull the chair away from the table holding the statue first. “So that person fixing Adrienne’s roof was a copy of you. Not you.”

Felwinter got back up to his feet, “I need to find them. Before they do something I won’t be able to explain.”

“What do we know about them?” Moth asked.

“They disappear if hurt bad enough,” Lydia started, “And they don’t seem to know the full extent of our abilities.”

“I guessed that too,” Moth said, “Felwinter, the real one, had been tackled to the ground, he’d have no issue fighting the person off.”

“I’m hoping they can’t Shout either.” Felwinter began to pace, “I doubt my soul can split with them so they shouldn’t be able to.”

“They were all doing things Felwinter had plans to do and they seem to know nothing else. Makes this easier. Felwinter, you were able to track them. Think clearly, where would they all be?” Moth asked.

Felwinter stopped pacing and closed his eyes. Almost immediately, a variety of vivid images appeared in his mind’s eye. As if he was actually there, he saw Solitude’s Blue Palace. “Solitude. Heading to the Blue Palace. I was going to go to see Sybille, establish an alibi when she notices that the statue is missing.”

Moth stood, opened the chest next to Felwinter’s bed and took out a dagger. “Where else? Lydia, arm yourself,” he ordered, kicking the chest close.

“Stoney hills and Dwemer ruins.”

“That’s the Reach.” Moth paused, “What did you have to do there.”

“I…uh, just a witch coven. Threatening passerbys. Wanted to clear it out.”

Moth stared at him with narrowed eyes. Felwinter just smiled. “What else?”

“One going to Sky Haven Temple,” Felwinter stood and in a flash of light, equipped himself, the long black cloak he had added to the dragonbone armor trailing the ground, “Taking the long way, through the fields of

Whiterun. The one who helped Anoriath and Elrindir in the fields is headed to Winterhold. And he’s making good time.”

“You won’t be able to find them all one by one. I’ll take the one in Solitude,” Moth said. Lydia came back in, strapping a bow and quiver to her back, “Lydia, he’s heading to Sky Haven Temple.”

She nodded, “I know the place.”

“Felwinter, the last two are yours. Clean and quiet. We don’t need people seeing Felwinter’s bodyguard or his husband assassinating him.”

“Or me assassinating me.” Felwinter paused as the others went down the stairs and made for the portal, “Although…”

“No.”

“But-”

“No.”

* * *

“Jordis?” Moth called as he stepped into Proudspire. “Jordis, you here?”

“Up here, Moth!” The Orc bounded up the stairs to find her at the table, reading. “Felwinter came through here right? Where was he going?”

“To talk to the court mage at the Blue Palace.” She gestured to the door with her book. “Don’t know why he enjoys talking to her. She freaks me out.”

“It’s not Felwinter.” Moth started for the door.

“Wait, what?”

“I’ll explain when I get back!” He opened the door and slammed it close behind him, taking deep breaths to calm himself down. He couldn’t afford to draw attention.

“Can’t have one normal day with this man,” he grumbled, walking at a simple but slightly urgent pace.

“ _I can hear you, you know!_ ” Felwinter’s voice rang out from the Dwemer crystal around his neck.

Moth grabbed it on instinct, “Good then I don’t have to repeat myself!”

“ _Technically, you just-”_

“Quiet. I thought you were supposed to be in Beast form.”

“ _I need to put some distance between me and Markarth first. I got Lydia a horse. She’s heading for the temple now.”_

Moth nodded at the guard patrolling the front and pushed his way through the doors. “I just got to the Blue Palace. I’ll talk to you later.”

Just as predicted, Felwinter’s low tones rang out from the Jarl’s throne room. Moth hurried up the stairs.

“Moth!” Jarl Elisif smiled sweetly, stopping him in his tracks. Felwinter’s copy, turned around and his face immediately brightened. He was clad in Felwinter’s Dawnguard armor, with one gloved hand resting on Dawnbreaker at his hip.

Moth bowed low. “My Jarl, I apologize for the intrusion.”

She waved off his apology. “It’s no trouble. You’re quite welcome here. Felwinter was just telling us about the Dawnguard. Will you be joining as well?”

“No, my Jarl. One of us has to stay home with the kids.”

“I volunteered, seeing as this one is the better swordsman.” The copy’s free hand came up to his lower back, “But the kids are sick of my cooking.”

Elisif let out a tiny laugh. Even her housecarl seemed to be forcing back a smile.

“But as I said,” Felwinter’s copy continued, “Per request of the Dawnguard, we ask if you put out a stronger warning on the danger of the vampires. They’re dangerous. More so than usual. Our leader also offers membership to any who would journey to Dayspring Canyon and join.”

Moth’s eyes twisted to Sybille in the corner. The woman was glaring daggers at him; as if she’d tear him limb from limb right here if she knew she could. She noticed the statue was missing and she knows it was him. He and Felwinter knew Stentor was a vampire and were probably the only ones who did. Suddenly, the copy’s idea to talk about the Dawnguard, right in front of her especially, made more sense.

“We don’t plan to wipe out every vampire in Skyrim, that’s a bit idealistic,” the copy continued. His eyes flicked to Sybille, once. Twice. A third time to make sure she knew he was speaking to her, “But any vampire with a mood to cause trouble has their days numbered. If they value their lives, they’ll do well to keep their heads down.” The copy bowed, “We’ll ensure what happened in Whiterun happens nowhere else. I _personally_ will.”

The Jarl nodded. “Thank you for this update, Felwinter. I’ll put the word out about recruitments, increase patrols, make sure the warnings get out and ensure our healers are prepared to deal with any infections.”

Felwinter’s copy bowed again, as did Moth. When they were down the stairs, Moth said, “Felwinter, can we talk? At home.”

Concern crossed his face. “Of course.” Felwinter led him back to their home, opening the door and closing it behind them. “Something the mat-”

Moth didn’t give him time to finish. He shoved him against the door and dragged his dagger a short way across his chest. Not enough to kill him but enough to get the intended effect. The copy’s eyes rolled into the back of his head and in a flash of dull light, he was gone.

Moth let his shoulders relaxed and sighed. Then he turned around to come face to face with a horrified Jordis.

“Jordis…” he took one step forward, only to find a blade point leveled at his throat. Moth put his hand up, hoping she wouldn’t throw herself at him, “I can explain…”

* * *

Lydia saw him from afar, slowly trekking towards the temple. She kept a good distance, out of his sight but still within arrow range.

He had apparently taken the way he did because he was nervous; something she had rarely seen him be. She knew Delphine was a hard woman, reminded him much of his mother. And Esbern was the opposite; kind and patient. Almost fatherly, Felwinter had called him.

Their rejection of him for his loyalty to the Greybeards struck him deep. More people he loved and looked up to who wanted nothing to do with him.

He stopped before the tunnel that would take him down into the recesses of the temple. She could see him fidgeting in place.

This was her chance. She dismounted her horse and nocked the arrow. This wouldn’t kill him but it would hurt enough to dispel the spell. She almost felt bad; the copy didn’t know that anything was wrong and the last thing he would see would be Lydia’s arrow lodging itself in his chest. But it had to be done.

Plus she was still pretty pissed at him for this morning.

* * *

Felwinter rolled on the ground, the abrupt ending of his transformation in the pandemonium his clone had caused throwing him off balance. His copy continued running inside while Felwinter ducked away to narrowly avoid a Forsworn arrow.

With that, Felwinter felt the last etchings of his patience melt away. He pulled in a massive breath and Shouted, “ _STRUN BAH QO!!!”_

His Thu’um was the first clap of thunder. Then came the second. And a third. Then rain, going from drizzling to almost torrential. Thick bolts of lightning began to hit Hag’s End, blowing chunks of rock out of the stone and killing Forsworn left and right. He paid their screaming no mind.

He pushed his way into the ruins and shut the door behind him. He was greeted by the sight of dead witches, corpses strewn everywhere. Some hacked and slashed, others obviously blown apart by magic. Felwinter’s hand came up to his pendant. “Moth?”

“ _Felwinter,_ ” the response came immediately ,” _You find the last one yet?”_

“Yeah. Yeah, I found him.” he stepped over the severed arm of one of the witches, “And Moth, I think they’re learning.”

“ _What do you mean?”_

“I mean this morning, the copy didn’t even know how to summon a weapon. Now its killing witches and Forsworn single handedly!” He started to run through the ruins, passing more and more corpses as he did. “I need to hurry before it has the strength to back up that it’s the real Felwinter.”

Felwinter had been here before. To retrieve a shield for Jarl Igmund, stolen by Reachmen. He came across a large, dimly lit room with an enchanting table and a Word Wall, already used. On the other side was the door that led out to the highest point of the fort, where something would definitely be waiting for them. He had Hircine’s ring; he could manage another transformation but he would need it later.

Felwinter pushed the door open slowly, blade hand trembling with anticipation. He stepped out into the cold air slowly…

And a Hagraven’s head rolled to his feet.

He stepped over it and closed the door as quietly as he could. The copy was searching the body, looking for the book of enchantments Felwinter had planned on getting himself. Felwinter was disappointed by the frustration in the copy’s body language; he had hoped it would be here. After this, he’d have to pay Enthir a visit. Either get better information or his money back. Or both, if no one was looking.

Felwinter broke into a run. The copy spun around and instinctively brought its blade up, just as he would’ve done. And if today hadn’t happened, he would’ve let his guard down in shock too, like the copy did.

With a yell, Felwinter tackled him off the side of the fort, their short fall ended abruptly by the hard stone ground.

The copy disappeared upon contact with the ground. Felwinter rolled off of his back with a groan and stood up. He touched the crystal around his neck. “Moth, it’s done,” he said, pain obvious in his voice.

“ _I guessed. The statue’s eyes just closed a bit more. Winterhold then?”_

He stepped over the lightning charred body of a witch and walked past a tent,“Yeah, I’ll just limp back to Markarth, go to Riften and make my-” he stopped and started to walk backwards back towards the tent.

“ _Felwinter? Something the matter?”_

“Moth, I’ll call you back.” Felwinter let the connection cut and gaped into the tent.

The robed mage inside, on his knees and with his hands bound behind his back, glared back.

Felwinter blinked. “Who in the world are you?”

He sniffed. “So you’re here to kill me? Slay the mighty Logrolf while he sits tied and helpless?"

“Mighty-listen.” Felwinter ran a hand over his face, “I have had a day like you would not believe so could you just work with me here?”

The man sniffed again. “Logrolf, if you didn’t catch me the first time. I’m a priest of Boethiah and I was-”

“Hold on,” Felwinter cut off, “A priest of Boethiah?” Memories of the abandoned house in Markarth dawned on him. He barked out a laugh, “You! It’s you! You’re the one Molag Bal wanted me to find! I completely forgot.” Felwinter kept laughing until he saw the look on the man’s face, “Look, calm down. I’m not taking you to him.” He straightened up and reached behind the man to unbind him, “I’ll go ahead and free you and-hey, is this yours?” Felwinter picked a book up from the table inside the tent and brought it to Logrolf’s face.

“Yeah, it’s mine. Why?” Felwinter started to flip through it, “Hey, what are you doing?”

Felwinter stopped at a certain page and let out victorious shout. He clasped the page and the few pages after it in his fingers and tore it out of the journal. “Thank you for your service, friend!” Felwinter quickly undid the man’s bindings and all but skipped out of the ruins, lack of energy completely forgotten.

* * *

“Felwinter!” Brelyna greeted him warmly. “I thought you had gone up to your quarters.”

That was easy. Felwinter smiled back like he didn’t just sprint here nonstop from Riften in Beast form. “Upstairs. Of course. Just wanted to check something. Heading back now.” He pushed open the door to the Arch Mage’s quarters and started up the stairs as quietly as he could manage.

The final copy was sitting at one of the tables, back turned to the entrance, writing. Felwinter took one step before he heard his own voice speak out. “I was wondering when you’d show up.”

Felwinter froze and kept his sword ready. The copy turned his head and smiled at him before waving him over. Against his better judgement, Felwinter approached.

“To start, I know what you have to do and I won’t resist,” the copy said, returning to his writing. Felwinter sat down across from it, “But I am glad you saved me for last. Let me finish this.” The copy ran a hand over the parchment, magically drying the ink instantly before handing it over to Felwinter.

“This...this is to my mother.” Felwinter let out a shuddering breath, “You finished it.”

The copy shrugged, “Well, it was what I was created to do.” He took the letter back and began to fold it, “See, that statue. It summons Daedric spirits that take on your likeness which I’m sure you’ve figured out. But we are usually too simple minded to act to your full capacity. You must summon us with a goal in mind and when you do, we work to complete that goal. The silver mines, threatening Stentor into not confronting you, fixing Adrienne’s roof, find that special enchantment for Moth’s axe.”

“So what if I had never found you?”

“I would have sent the letter and just sat here until the spell wore off.” He sealed the letter inside an envelope and handed it back to Felwinter. It was already addressed.

Felwinter took and stared down at it. “How do you know all this? The others were convinced they were me.”

The copy shrugged, “Well, I’ve been around longer than the others. And I had the situation explained to me.”

“Explained? By who? No one else knows.”

The copy nodded his head in the direction behind them.

“Ha! Finally found it!” A loud thump echoed across the room as someone landed on the ground.

Felwinter’s blood iced over at the sound of the voice. He slowly turned to be greeted by the sight of a rather diminutive and frail old man, dressed in a purple and crimson overcoat. Grey hair and beard neatly combed and trimmed. A large, dusty bottle of wine raised high in his hand and a brilliant smile going all the way up to his golden eyes.

“Felwinter, boyo, it is so wonderful to see you again!” Felwinter jumped when Sheogorath slammed the bottle on table and slapped Felwinter’s shoulder with a strength that belied his appeared age.

“Lord Sheogorath,” Felwinter bit out, eyes darting between his clone and the Daedric Prince. “To what do I owe the honor?”

“Honor? HA!!! Look at this one.” He jostled Felwinter’s copy with his elbow. The copy just smiled warmly, “He spends his day doing nothing but entertaining me to no end and it’s his honor!” Sheogorath pulled the cork out of the wine. “Why I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard in my life! The faces you made. Your housecarl trying to maim you! Oh, I think I might have pulled a muscle. Do you know what that’s like Felwinter?”

“I-” Felwinter started.

Sheogorath suddenly pushed his forehead against Felwinter’s, staring deep into his wide eyes. His voice dropped. “Do you want me to show you?”

Felwinter remained frozen on the spot, too terrified to look away. Sheogorath suddenly grabbed Felwinter’s face in his hands and kissed both of his cheeks, “HA! I’m just kidding. I’ve had enough hilarity for one day.” He picked up the bottle of wine by the neck and drank deeply. He kept drinking until bottle of wine was empty. Then he took a bite out of the neck of the bottle. “Mmm, cheese.”

“That statue. It’s yours?” Felwinter asked, finally finding his voice.

Sheogorath took another bite before throwing the bottle behind him, causing it to shatter against the back wall. “That’s right! It was I who put that teeny tiny thought into that Maven’s teeny tinier head.”

“You wanted her to have it?”

“Nope! Not at all! I wanted you to have it. But you have to give it to her, I know, I know. It’ll find its way back to you in time. Until then neither the cunning Mercer nor the ruthless Maven shall ever know its power.”

Prince Sheogorath leaned in again, holding Felwinter’s hypnotized gaze. “There’s something coming, Felwinter. Something the likes of which has never seen before and if you mortals are lucky, will never see again. We stand upon the precipice of change, Drakon. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss! Watch for that moment... and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly.”

The Prince moved away. “You like that? Heard some old lady say that to someone once. Powerful mage. Amazing poet. Awfully beautiful.” He shrugged, “I think she’s dead now. Poor thing. Killed by an egg.” Sheogorath looked away in thought, “Or was it a wolf?”

A short wooden staff appeared in his open palm. Sheogorath tapped the pointed end on the ground twice and the Arch Mage’s quarters in the College fizzled from view, replaced with the gates of Whiterun in the span of a blink.

The guard at the front gate shook his head. “Thane. Apologies, I must’ve fallen asleep.”

He was hopelessly exhausted and unwilling to question what had just happened, Felwinter simply nodded and smiled, walking through when the door was held open. It was dark now.The dimly lit streets of Whiterun were quiet, a far cry from the kind of day he had, filled with yelling and screaming,  hunder and overall confusion. His head throbbed at the memory.

“Felwinter.” Moth rose from his seat when Felwinter stepped through, “It’s done?”

“It’s done.” Moth’s hands ran up his arms and clutched his shoulders. Felwinter’s forehead pressed against his. “Where’s Lydia?”

“She went to bed almost immediately, claiming you’ve exhausted her will to stay conscious.” Moth chuckled, “A new record, I think.”

“A new one to beat.” Felwinter reached into his pocket and pulled out the sealed envelope. “The letter to my mother. I’ll be sending it out tomorrow.”

“You finished it.” Moth took it from him, eyes roving over the writing on the front.

“Well, yeah. Technically, the copy did. And...it’s everything I wanted to say but couldn’t,” he breathed, “Doesn’t mince words either. But then again, neither did Isran. And neither will she.”

Moth’s hand went down to the small of his back and pushed him towards the stairs. Felwinter moved with him, taking the stairs one at a time, magically putting out the candles out along the way. “You know, this whole thing has taught me something.”

“Since when do you learn from the consequences of your actions?”

“It’s been known to happen.” His black armor disappeared, leaving him only in leggings and an under shirt.

“Well, what’s the lesson?” Moth closed and locked their bedroom door.

Felwinter grinned. “I look as good from the back as I always thought I did.”

“For once, I won’t argue with you on that.” Moth’s hand ran up his back, lifting his thin shirt up slightly. “Come to bed, Fel.”

“Do you wanna…”

“To sleep, Felwinter.”

“Oh good. Cause I’m exhausted.” He pulled his shirt off the rest of the way and draped it on one of the chairs. Next to it was another shirt and a note. Felwinter opened the note and read the sloppily written letters.

_“Dear Papa,_

_We got your shirt back. We beat Farkas at arm wrestling. You can thank us later. With sweet rolls!_ ”

Followed by their names written, scribbled out and written again over and over in reverse order; as if they argued over whose name should go first.

He smiled and dropped the letter on the table, next to Sheogorath’s statue, its eyes now shut completely. Felwinter extinguished the last of the candles. His fingers brushed slightly against the sides of the stone…

And the eyes popped open. Felwinter made a panicked, choking sound.

“ _HA! Just kiddin.”_ The eyes slowly shut themselves again and the sound of mad, cackling laughter echoed across his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone recognize the “precipice of change” quote? First place prize is a cookie. 
> 
> Which I will buy for myself and then eat. 
> 
> I’ll buy it anyway even if no one places it.


	20. Chapter Nineteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We’re not Nords. We can handle spicy foods.”

"Balgruuf won't give us a straight answer."

Galmar’s rough voice and his inability to enter any room quietly roused Jarl Ulfric from his lull. His eyes refocused on the map. "He's a true Nord. He'll come around," was all he said.

"Don't be so sure of that.” Galmar’s heavy, clinking footsteps stopped beside him. “ We've intercepted couriers from Solitude. The Empire's putting a great deal of pressure on Whiterun."

"And what would you have me do?" Ulfric straightened up and faced him this time.

Galmar leaned closer, teeth clenched tightly, "If he's not with us, he's against us."

"He knows that. They all know that."

"Then how long are you going to wait?!"

Ulfric turned from his housecarl back to the map. He started to walk around the wooden table, silently counting the figures across it. His soldiers. The Empire’s. Known Thalmor encampments. His eyes landed on the city of their discussion.

Whiterun. A neutral city with its neutral ruler and a draconic maverick who couldn’t be more apathetic to the entire situation.

"You think I need to send Balgruuf a stronger message," Ulfric muttered, eyes still on the city.

Galmar met his mutter with a growl, "If by message, you mean shoving a sword through his gullet."

"Taking his city and leaving him in disgrace would make a more powerful statement, don't you think?"

"So we're ready to start this war in earnest then? These little spats with Tullius’ little boys got old a long time ago."

"Soon, Galmar."

"I still say you should take them all out like you did Dead-King Torygg." Ulfric cringed inwardly at the tasteless comment. He smiled nonetheless.

"Tell me, Galmar, why do you fight for me?"

Galmar held back an irritated groan. He was tired of this question. "I'd follow you into the depths of Oblivion, you know that."

"Yes, but why do you fight? If not for me, what then?" By his tone, Ulfric was just as tired of asking.

"Because I will die before I let elves dictate the fates of men!” He spat the word “elves” like bile. His tone then softened. “Ulfric. Shield-Brother. Are we not one in this?"

Ulfric let out a shuddering breath. "I fight for the men I've held in my arms, dying on foreign soil. I fight for their wives, their children, whose names I have heard whispered in their last breaths. I fight for we few who did come home, only to find our country full of strangers wearing familiar faces. I fight for my people impoverished to pay the debts of an Empire too weak to rule them, yet would brand them criminals for wanting to rule themselves! I fight so that all the fighting I've already done hasn't been for nothing. I fight, Shield-Brother... because I must."

"Your words give voice to what we all feel, Ulfric. Me. Those who follow you. And that's why you will be High King. But the day words are enough, will be the day when soldiers like us are no longer needed."

"I would gladly retire from the world were such a day to dawn," Ulfric said with an air of finality. He with final look to Whiterun on the map before he started towards the door.

Galmar followed him out. "Aye. But in the meantime, we have a war to plan."

“Aye. That we do. But in the meantime, meantime, I’m going to bed.”

Galmar chuckled at that and closed the door shut behind them. Silence filled the war room save for the crackling of candles and snow softly pelting the glass windows.

A body fell from the ceiling, hitting the ground hard, face down with a dull but loud thud. Silence filled Ulfric’s war room again for another seconds before Felwinter let out a long painful groan, sound muffled by his face pressed against the cold floor.

He reached into one of his many pockets and pulled out a glimmering sapphire. He turned his neck to the side to stare at it with a weak smile, “Delvin owes me so much money.”

* * *

“So why are you going to Castle Dour?” Kayd’s voice was muffled by his hand pressing against his cheek as he leaned on it. His elbow pushed into Felwinter’s hair, much to his annoyance.

Felwinter absentmindedly tapped his thumbs against the boy’s legs hanging off his shoulders as he walked further into the city of Solitude carrying him. “What do you have against Castle Dour?”

Felwinter felt a slight hit on the bare side of his head. “I’ll ask the questions here, thank you. So why are you going to Castle Dour?”

“To see Tullius.”

“Why?”

“To talk to him.”

“Why?”

“To give him information about the war.”

“Why?”

Felwinter groaned, “How do I always get roped into these types of arguments with you?”

“Cause you’re dumb,” the boy teased.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re irritating?” Felwinter craned his neck to grin at him.

“One time, Pa went and got some drinks with friends,” Kayd said, “He was acting a little funny and tripping on the stairs when he got back so Ma had to help him to bed.”

“Is there a point to this story?”

“When I brought him some water, he told me I was the best thing to ever happen to him and Ma. So no, I’m not irritating. I’m a gift!”

Felwinter laughed. Put a few drinks in him and Beirand went from being a bear of a Nord to a teetering, lumbering sap.

Kayd leaned forward over Felwinter’s head with a bored sigh. “Uncle Felwinter, where’s your mother?”

“High Rock.”

“She’s not from Skyrim?”

“I’m not from Skyrim, kid.”

“Don’t you miss her?”

Felwinter sighed wistfully. He stared upwards as Castle Dour’s entrance archway passed over them. “Every day. One day, I’ll go see her again.”

“What about your pa? Where is he?”

Felwinter stopped before a door, “Ride’s over, kid,” he said, reaching up, grabbing Kayd by the arm and pulling the boy over his head and gently dropping him to the ground. He poked his boot into his ribs, making Kay’s squeal and scramble to get away. Felwinter watched him run off and join a group of other children before pushing his way into the fort.

Before the war room sat a brown haired man dozing in a chair. Felwinter took a closer look at his face before groaning. He slammed the door to outside close behind him, causing Hadvar to wake with a start and nearly fall over. He blinked to adjust his eyes. Then they widened. “Felwinter?”

“Hadvar.” Felwinter coldly brushed past the Nord into the war room, where Tullius and Rikke had been discussing troop movements before his interruption. Rikke had her hand on the pommel of her sword but the General seemed completely at ease. “Thane Drakon. A pleasure.” His greeting was short, curt and entirely insincere.

As much as he wanted to, Felwinter gained little by pissing him off. “General.” He said the Imperial’s title with an equal amount of disdain. Then he forced himself to relax and started to casually stroll around the war table, “Been a while. The truce meeting, right?”

General Tullius’ eyes narrowed. “That’s exactly right. Where you lost me Markarth.”

A smile tugged on Felwinter’s lips as he remembered his moment of childish pettiness. “And before that, Helgen. You remember that? Because I do. And I did, nearly every night for several months afterwards.”

Tullius’ mouth was a thin irritated line. The old tan skinned man looked liked like he hadn’t slept in days. It was Legate Rikke who spoke up. “Why are you here, Drakon?”

Felwinter picked up one map pieces from the table. A blue Stormcloak flag from within the spare pile off to the side. “ I am here...to join the Legion.” Hadvar had been drinking something, judging by the way he started choking behind them.

Tullius and Rikke shared a disbelieving look before he let out a sharp laugh. “Join the Legion? Ha! You?”

“Why?” Rikke demanded, completely unamused.

“I have reasons. Reasons you’ll hear depending on what we agree on today.” Felwinter tossed the flag back into its pile. He sat down in a nearby chair and propped his dirty boots up on an end table. “But among those is the fact that I’ve grown sick of yours’ and Ulfric’s little lovers’ quarrel. I want it over once and for all.”

“And you think you alone can be the deciding factor in this war?”

Felwinter spread his arms out. “Why not? I’m halfway decent with a sword, slightly better with magic and I happen to know a Shout or ten. I’m sure I can at least match Jarl Stormcloak.”

“You seem rather confident in your skills,” Tullius remarked.

“Do you know not know who I am?”

“You’re Dragonborn.” General Tullius moved back to his map, “You’re meant to kill Dragons. How you kill men, how you end wars remains to be seen.” The Imperial’s hand came to rest on the pommel of his sword, “You want to join? Fine. I won’t turn away anyone, regardless of my personal feelings towards them. But you’ll serve and rise through the ranks as everyone else has. While you do, you’ll be placed under Hadvar here-”

“Let my stop you right there, General,” Felwinter rudely cut off, getting to his feet. “If ‘service’ as you call it is all that is needed to rise, I’ve already served the Legion enough to be more than some auxiliary.”

“For once, Drakon, make some sense.”

“I trust you’ve heard of the Jagged Crown?” Felwinter asked plainly, flipping open the pack he had been carrying.

“Yes, we know of it. We met a contingent of Stormcloaks while trying to retrieve it,” Rikke said. Felwinter was digging around inside his pack, barely listening to her. “However, we didn’t find it. It wasn’t-”

Felwinter pulled out the Jagged Crown and let the old dusty thing clunk on the table. He sat down again, smiling at the look of absolute shock on their faces. Felwinter used his foot to push it slightly closer to the. “Found this in some Draugr infested crypt. Can’t remember the name honestly.” He pointed a waving finger at Rikke., “You know I’m surprised your men had so much trouble, Legate. I hadn’t even enrolled at Winterhold’s College yet and I was still able to walk in there and take it. I might just keep it honestly.”

Tullius bent over the table, hands propping him up, “Why did you even take it, Drakon?”

“Cause it matched my eyes, General. Why else?” Felwinter hooked his foot underneath the crown and brought it back. “If you want it as well as the information I’m offering,” he said, “You’ll make me a Legate. Nothing less.”

By the look in the man’s eye, Felwinter wondered if he had finally pushed too far. He had faced Dragons with less killing intent. And yet, Felwinter took comfort. He knew he was right. Rikke and the General knew it too. They needed the crown to legitimize Elisif’s claim to the throne and if he had information so vital to their cause that he’d go to such lengths as to join the people who nearly had him executed unjustly, they’d be remiss not to take him up on his demands.

Tullius straightened up and forced his teeth apart. “Fine,” he couldn’t stop himself from snarling out, “ _Legate_ Drakon it is.”

“Dibella’s ass, General. Were you giving me a position or passing a mammoth tusk? No matter.” He put his hand up before Tullius could even open his mouth again. He stood, “Now for the information. Stormcloak plans to attack and take Whiterun. Write a letter addressing the Jarl with that information as well as asking to station Imperial soldiers there. I’ll hand it to Balgruuf personally and take care of the rest.”

Felwinter started to walk out. He had made it to the door when Tullius’ voice stopped him. “And where will I find you?”

Felwinter pushed the door open and sunlight poured in. “Solitude’s Blacksmith, annoying the owner. Play this right and Whiterun will be yours within the week. I’ll be waiting, General.” He waved behind him and let the door close.

“He’s joking. He _must_ be,” Rikke said in disbelief.

“Settle down, Rikke.”

“I mean, who the name of the gods does he think he is?!”

“Useful, Legate. And he knows it.” Tullius turned his attention back to the map. To Whiterun, a white flag in a sea of Imperial reds and Rebel blues. “Whiterun must still be reeling from the vampire attack. It would be a good time to take them unawares.”

“They do have the Companions with them, sir,” she pointed out, “It wouldn’t be an easy fight.”

“But it could still end in a Stormcloak victory if we do not back them up. Losing Markarth was a blow but losing Whiterun as well could end us.” Tullius looked at the door again. “But I can’t help but wonder if he would have really left without telling us about Ulfric’s plans. Would he defend Whiterun on his own?”

“Either he couldn’t and he knew it or he could but just didn’t want to. Would rather throw Imperial soldiers at Ulfric’s men. Got what he wanted either way.”

* * *

 

“So don’t take this the wrong way,” Felwinter started after what had been a rather long period of riding in silence, “Or do, I don’t care, but one of the main reasons I became Legate was so I wouldn’t be saddled with you.”

“I didn’t ask for this, Felwinter,” Hadvar said. His scratchy voice was almost lost to the sound of the horses, carrying them along the path to Whiterun. The city was in sight, tall and imposing against a backdrop of cloudless blue skies. “About Helgen.”

“Lovely town. Very flammable.” Felwinter quipped.

“...Yes,” Hadvar continued carefully, noticing flex in Felwinter’s jaw, “I’ve noticed you’re still a bit...angry-”

“Pissed.”

“Pissed. Right. Look, it was a difficult time for everyone involved.” They stopped before Whiterun and dismounted their horses, letting the city’s stable master take them.

“Was it, Hadvar?” Felwinter snapped, pushing his way through the gates. “Seems to me like all that was required was unlocking my handcuffs after seeing that I wasn’t with the rebels! But hey, your apology and your heartfelt promise to deposit my headless corpse off in front of my hysterical, already overly worried mother was _wonderful_ consolation.”

Deep hurt flashed in the young man’s eyes. His eyes lowered to the ground as he trailed after Felwinter through the streets of Whiterun. As they made their way to Dragonsreach, Hadvar watched as Felwinter greeted nearly everyone they passed, anger at him seemingly forgotten. Hadvar himself was mostly ignored, save for a few nods and a couple of glares.

As they approached Whiterun’s massive central tree, Felwinter yelled out two names at a group of kids running around it. Two Imperial children skidded to a stop and came scrambling in his direction, massive excited smiles on their faces. With a happy shout, the big man squat down and scooped them up, the girl at his waist and a boy over his shoulder, where they remained till Dragonsreach; talking excitedly over each other and paying him no mind.

They called him father, something Hadvar found surprising. It had been a little less than a year since Helgen. Felwinter wasted little time.

* * *

Balgruuf ran a hand down his tired face to the end of his beard. “Proventus, what do you make of this? Would Ulfric really attack Whiterun? After what we suffered at the hands of Harkon’s vanguard force?”

“The letter may be signed by Tullius, Balgruuf,” Felwinter said, “But his information comes from me. I heard Ulfric myself.” He stood directly before the Jarl’s throne while Hadvar kept his distance.

Proventus raised his hands, “As in all things, Lord, caution...I urge us wait and see.”

“Prey waits,” Irileth growled, stepping from behind the throne. Her hand gripped her the handle of her sheathed sword tightly as she started to pace back and forth.

Felwinter jutted his chin out at her, “What she said.”

“Then it is time to act.”

Proventus sputtered, “What are you saying? That we march on Windhelm?”

“I’m not a fool, Proventus,” the Jarl said, “I mean it’s time to challenge Ulfric to face me as a man. Or at the very least, declare his intentions.”

“He’ll do no such thing!”

“Torygg would disagree.” Felwinter shrugged, “If he were here I mean.”

“Toryyg? He simply walked up to the boy and murdered him!”

Irileth jabbed a finger at the old Imperial, “That ‘boy’ was the High King of Skyrim.”

“Boy. King. What did that change?” Felwinter’s asked, “He’s still dead by Ulfric’s hand. Ulfric made it clear back then and he’s making it clear now. To refuse his claim to the throne is to side with the Empire. If you’re not with him,” he echoed Galmar’s words, “You’re against him.”

Balgruuf watched him strangely. “Never took you for a patriot, Felwinter.”

“Far from it. But my family is here. We are still recovering from the vampire attack and Ulfric knows this full well.”

“Neither of you want to wait?” Proventus asked, eyes moving back and forth between the Jarl and Felwinter. “At least to see if he’s serious.”

Balgruuf stood, “Oh, he’s serious. But so am I!”

“Finally,” Irileth huffed. Felwinter grinned. Balgruuf pointed at him, “You. You will take my axe and you will deliver it to Ulfric in Windhelm.”

Felwinter’s smile slowly fell. He blinked. “An...axe,” he repeated.

“Yes, an axe!”

“For what? So he can cleave my head in two?”

“No!” Balgruuf’s face scrunched up in disbelief, “Gods, man, how long have you lived in Skyrim?”

“A grand total of seventeen minutes. Why an axe?”

“Old Nordic custom, Felwinter!” Balgruuf said it like he was explaining it to a child, “Deliver it to Ulfric. If he keeps it, he and I are at peace. But if he gives it back…”

Felwinter didn’t need him to finish. “Then it’s because you’re going to need it. I understand.”

“Then hurry back. I’ll need you to take a message to Tullius after and to be here. We will not be taken unprepared.”

* * *

“Hold,” Felwinter ordered, pulling on the reins of his horse. Something was making his pulse race. Has been since they got to Eastmarch. He could smell it in the air and feel it in his head, fraying his nerves. Was there an encampment of rogue mages nearby? Vampires?

Hadvar hadn’t been listening, too lost in whatever thoughts were racing around in his head. He kept going. Felwinter was just about to issue the order again when a massive wall of fire sprung up before Hadvar’s horse. Felwinter managed to pull his back in time but Hadvar was too close. The animal panicked, raising up on its high legs and causing the soldier to lose his grip.

 _“KAAN!_ ” The horse stopped in its tracks, taking on an eerie, unnatural calm within the storm of fire surrounding them.

Corralling them.

“On your feet, Hadvar!” Felwinter barked, hoping off his horse and summoning his armor to his person. Hadvar scrambled to stand and drew his sword, his head swiveling back and forth.

The ring of flame dropped. Hadvar stepped backwards, bumping into Felwinter. Thalmor Justiciars, large in number, armed to the teeth and surrounding them entirely.

“Hello!” Felwinter called out cheerfully, his smile showing only slightly too much teeth.

The hooded Altimer did not smile back. “Felwinter Drakon. You stand accused and have been found guilty of the murder of several high ranking Thalmor agents and a number of Thalmor soldiers,” she said, “As well as aiding Stormcloak rebels in their blatant violation of the White-Gold Concordat.”

Hadvar’s shoulders were heaving. As if he had been running and wasn’t simply terrified. He dared a glance back at him. “You’ve helped the Stormcloaks?”

“Maybe once,” he mumbled with a shrug. The smell and pressure of magic was so oppressive and distracting, any clever quip he would’ve responded was lost to him. To be surrounded by so many magic users so ready to let loose could give even the most talented mages pause.

They were not going to hold back. Hadvar wouldn’t survive. Not unless Felwinter could manage what he was about to do. He started to suppress his magic, force it down.

Hadvar was feeling it too. The young man’s eyes were wide with terror and his face was drenched in sweat. “N-now hold a minute,” he said, shakily. He lowered his sword and put his free hand up. The Thalmor leader narrowed her eyes.

“This man,” he stuttered out, “He is part of the Legion. A Legate under General Tullius himself. Whatever his past crimes, he is loyal to the Empire! He has no love for the Stormcloaks and he has only acted in his own self defense! I’m sure of it!” The kid was lying. He knew it. They knew it.

“Do you think that matters, boy?!” The Thalmor snapped. She pointed a long finger at Felwinter, “That man dared to lay his hands on an Altimer of the Aldmeri Dominion! That cannot go unpunished.”

“Please!” Hadvar pleaded, “See reason! No one has to die today!”

A shimmering Bound sword appeared in the Justiciar’s hand. She pointed it at Hadvar, “You are not our target, Legionnaire. Stand down and we’ll forgive your naive interference in the affairs of your betters.”

Felwinter watched the man’s shoulders raise and lower with breath. From behind, Felwinter could see his eyes bulging from his head, swiveling back and forth. Then they stopped on him and stayed.

Felwinter recognized the look. And the memories it brought back made his stomach turn.

Kill Hadvar first, Felwinter told himself. Or at least knock him unconscious, deliver him to Tullius and hopefully be rid of the spineless coward for good. Felwinter’s foot started to move back, preparing to launch himself at the Nord.

“No.”

Felwinter froze. The Justiciar’s eyes widened. “What?”

Hadvar’s blade came back up. “I said no! You’re not arresting him! Not while I’m here.”

The other elves muttered amongst themselves while the leader stayed silent. Felwinter’s stayed on Hadvar, surprised at this sudden outburst of bravery. Better late than never.

The head Thalmor’s golden eyes were burning holes into his head. The side of her mouth twitched. “Arrest?” She tilted her head slightly, “This was never an arrest. This was an execution. And now? Now it is a slaughter.”

The level of magic in the air spiked. Felwinter Shouted, commanding time to bend to his will and slow. He forced himself forward as various waves of ice, fire and lightning sluggishly made their way towards the two.

Even before time had slowed, Hadvar had been frozen in terror. He had little experience on the field and even less against mages. It worked in his favor. With what Felwinter planned, moving even an inch would’ve been deadly.

Felwinter slammed hard into his back and used his weight to force the Nord flat on the ground. He could feel the cold, the heat, the static in the air as the magical attacks crept closer and closer.

He rose back up and stretched both arms out wide.

Time resumed. The spells closed in and Felwinter shut his eyes and _pulled_.

The effect was both painful. And exhilarating. Felwinter felt the mental lid he had forced down on his magic break and his magicka rush forward like water from a broken dam. His power mixed so violently with the sudden, heavy inflow of foreign magic that Felwinter nearly collapsed from the shock. Like being bedridden for years and suddenly being forced on a day’s hard march.

But the spells soon ended. Initially obscured by the smoke and dust the blasts had thrown up into the air, Felwinter remained how he was, focusing on keeping his breathing even, his mind clear. One slip up, one slight lapse in concentration and it was over. Hadvar was still on the ground, eyes clamped shut and hands protecting his head.

Felwinter’s entire body glowed hot white. The very air around him was buzzing. Felwinter dropped to one knee, slammed his palms to the ground and let the absorbed magic flow outwards. Daedric portals burst violently open in the air and three gargantuan Centurions stomped forth out of Oblivion.

It was the Thalmor’s turn to balk. The fight had started in earnest. Thalmor throwing spells and summoning creatures in the hopes of slowing them down but to no avail. One attempted to take control of the Daedra or at least banish one of them away. The last thing that Elf saw before his death was the sight of the Centurion's hammer falling down on his head.

Felwinter let them do the fighting, grabbing Hadvar and dragging him towards cover. Hadvar stumbled to his feet, flinching with every earthshaking stomp of the Centurions’ feet, every slam of its heavy weapons.

The Kyne’s Peace Shout has worn off some time ago; the horses were long gone. Felwinter frantically searched around for how they might escape.

Suddenly Hadvar suddenly wrenched out of his grip and shoved him away. Later, Felwinter would blame exhaustion or the maybe the chaos around him. Either way, he did not feel the bolt of lightning flying towards his back. Nor did he see it until Hadvar shoved him out of its path and took the blast full in the chest.

The Nord folded on impact and went flying. He hit the ground several feet away. He wasn’t moving, save for static induced twitching.

Felwinter lashed out. With a Shout, he let out a spray of frost. The offending Thalmor put his arms up, ice fusing itself to every part of his body and immobilizing him. The nearest Centurion brought its axe arm down hard. Frozen shards of the elf went flying across the field.

“ _OD AH VIING!”_ Felwinter Shouted at the sky, the world shaking at the force of his Thu’um.

A beat. Another. Then the clouds parted. A dark winged shape dropped from above and let out a roar that could be heard for miles.

“No survivors!” Felwinter roared as he started to run back to where Hadvar lay. Odahviing roared his understanding and his glee and let out a breath of fire that incinerated half the Thalmor in one go.

Hadvar had barely moved in that time, only rolling onto his back. His body still twitching with static and his teeth grit together in pain. Felwinter had made it within feet of the soldier, a healing spell prepared when the sound of a battle cry caused him to spin around. The lead Justiciar dropped from above, face streaked with sweat, dirt and blood. Felwinter called Zazikel to his hand and just barely managed to deflect the descending sword. She landed on the ground and sprang at him again.

She was wild and erratic in her movements. Felwinter ducked low under her sword when she swung it at his neck, coming back up before she could return and delivering a brutal, armored punch to her face.

Her nose collapsed under the force and taking advantage of her reeling, Felwinter first brought Zazikel across her knee, forcing her to drop to her other knee and then struck down on her chest. She fell onto her back with a dazed look of shock, Bound Sword falling from her hand and dispelling. Behind her were her comrades, dead and broken, their blood seeping into the soil. Odahviing and one remaining Centurion remained at the center of the corpses, eyes on Felwinter.

Felwinter ran back to Hadvar, immediately pulling the the remaining static from his armor and started healing. Little by little, his jaw unclenched and his breathing began to even out. His eyes fluttered open. They stayed on the darkening sky for a few seconds before turning to Felwinter.

Felwinter met his gaze only once before turning away. “You didn’t need to do that,” he muttered, “I can take a hit.”

Hadvar tried to speak but all that came out was a croak. He had better success the second time. “I know.”

“You could’ve let me taken the hit. You could’ve taken the Thalmor’s offer.”

“I know,” he said again.

“Then why did you do it?” Felwinter growled, lump welling in his throat.

Hadvar looked away, his armored chest heaving with still labored but strong breaths. “Because I remember Helgen too. I was a coward back then. I couldn’t bring myself to be one now.”

“Yeah and you fucking paid for it. Congratulations.” Hadvar let out a weak laugh and then groaned.

“Dovahkiin,” Odahviing’s great voice echoed. “This one still lives.”

Felwinter turned and saw what he was referring to. The head Justiciar had opened her eyes and was staring at them. Felwinter rose up, went and squat down next to her body. She scowled bitterly, “Helgen, huh? That makes three of us then. I thought you looked familiar.”

Felwinter remained silent, his facial expression serene disdain. Except for the pupils of his eyes, shrinking with every passing second.

“If that blasted Dragon had waited only moments more, I would’ve gotten to see your head roll across the ground.” Her scowl became a bloody smile, “The Thalmor will never stop. You will pay for this insult, Drakon. I promise you that. And after we finally kill you, after we finally make you bleed, your family will be-”

Zazikel reappeared in Felwinter’s hand. He brought it up above his head and slammed it down, burying it in her gut. Her threat was cut off by the sudden pool of blood that welled in her throat and dripped down the sides of her mouth.

A gut wound, even one as bad as he had just inflicted, wouldn’t kill her until after a while of horrible agony. Felwinter held her pained gaze as he pushed the blade deeper and deeper until it reached the hilt. “You talk too much,” Was all he muttered before leaving her to her pained gasps and dying regrets.

He walked back to Hadvar, who had managed to prop himself up on a rock face in the meanwhile, “I don’t know how I’m going to get to Windhelm in this state.”

“You’re not. I’m taking you back to Solitude.” He grabbed Hadvar’s arm and with a heave, pulled the man over his shoulders. The horses were gone, the Shout having worn off a long time ago. “Odahviing, we need a ride back to Whiterun.”

Hadvar nervously watched the blood red dragon lumber closer. “So he’s with you then?”

“He’s with me.”

“You said we were going back to Solitude.”

“We are.” Odahviing lowered and let Felwinter prop Hadvar on to his neck. Felwinter got on after and Odahviing took off into the air, leaving the Thalmor impaled on his blade, twitching in agony.

* * *

“I’ve never seen magic like that before,” Hadvar, for probably the third or fourth time. Felwinter and Moth had taken him through it to get back to their home in Solitude, after Danica had given him permission to return home. He had his armor stripped off and his torso bandaged, an angry red scar right above his heart.

“Something tells me you haven’t seen a lot of magic before in general.” Felwinter walked into the room holding three mugs of spiced wine. Moth had remained at the Nord’s bedside, sitting in one of the chairs, talking with him. The second the Orc told him that he was an ex-Legionnaire, the kid was practically smitten.

“No, not really. Not a lot of practiced mages in Riverwood,” Hadvar admitted, “A healer and a few candle lighters here and there.”

Felwinter approached Moth first. When the Orc reached for the one in his right, Felwinter surreptitiously moved the two in his left closer. They shared a look before Moth accepted it. Felwinter ensured Hadvar took the one in his right. “The Thalmor said you helped the Stormcloaks.”

“Yeah?”

“Can I ask what you did?”

Felwinter took a sip of his wine and mulled over the memory. “The Gray-Manes of Whiterun are Stormcloak supporters,” he said, keeping his eyes on the opposite wall, “Their son had been abducted by Thalmor agents, kept in some derelict fort in Haafingar and was being tortured for information. Despite being told he was dead, his mother asked me to find and rescue him. A few Thalmor in the fort ended up being dead.”

“A few?”

“Or all of them. I wasn’t counting.”

Hadvar let out a long breath. “So why did you do it?”

Felwinter sighed and lowered his cup. “The same reason you decided to take a lightning spell to the chest for me. Cause it was the right thing to do. And because I’m an idiot who chose that moment to develop a conscience.”

“It’s only been a year since Helgen,” Hadvar said, “And you’ve kept busy. A family, Dragons, the Thalmor. That...portal downstairs. I’m surprised nobody else knows about it.”

“We prefer to keep this a secret in the family. Too many people could abuse it.”

Moth reached into one of the drawers nearby, took out a piece of paper, a quill and a pot of ink and placed them on a nearby desk. Hadvar took a pull of the wine and watched him. “So what? I’m family now?”

Felwinter snorted. “Let’s not get crazy.”

“I can keep a secret, Felwinter.”

Fel shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I’m erasing your memory.”

Hadvar finished the wine and an amused look of disbelief crossed his face. He scoffed, “Not that I don’t appreciate your help but what makes you believe I’d let you do that?”

Felwinter didn’t say anything. He just leaned forward and looked into Hadvar’s mug, ensuring it was empty. “You drank the wine I gave you, didn’t you?”

Hadvar’s eyes widened.

Felwinter took a sip of his own. “When I said ‘I’m erasing your memory’, I didn’t mean I was going to. I meant I was in the process of.”

Hadvar let the empty mug drop onto the bed in shock. Felwinter watched them as Hadvar’s eyes started to flutter and his entire body deflated with a moan. He was snoring a minute later.

“So what are we going with?” Moth asked, already writing out what they were going to say, “Hard night of drinking?”

“Sounds good. I gave him enough to just erase the last hour. He’ll remember up to his visit to Danica, hopefully.” Felwinter took another sip, staring at him.

“You got yourself checked out right?” Moth kept his eyes on the paper while he talked.

“Few minor surface injuries. The worst of the damage was overextending myself by absorbing that much magic into me.”

“Been a long time since you used Dragonskin. She said the same to me after I went berserk against the vampires. Hurt them and myself too.”

“Did she have to ban you from using it for a while?” Felwinter asked, turning towards their bedroom window.

“No. Common sense stops me.” Felwinter laughed softly at that. The writing stopped. “Something’s distracting you.”

“Ah, this one,” He said, gesturing to Hadvar’s sleeping form, “He’s in this position because he took a hit for me. After Helgen, I didn’t expect him to be that kind of person. And after how I’ve been treating him…”

“You’re conflicted.”

“I don’t want to be angry, Moth. Not at him. Especially after this,” Felwinter said, “He’s a kid. He was a kid back then too! What was he supposed to do? Fight the entire Legion and the Thalmor for some unlucky bastard he had just met?”

“But dreams about Helgen still come up every now and then and I just get so angry. I can feel the dirt on my knees, I can feel the wooden block on my head.” Felwinter’s hand started to shake, “Sometimes, I can even feel my neck hurting. Like Alduin didn’t show up in time and I…” the shaking became more violent and his breathing ragged.

Moth put down the quill and went to stand before him, big hands squeezing his shoulder, massaging his neck. When the shaking stopped and the breathing evened, he spoke again, “Guess I’m not the only one still thinking about it.”

“You’re okay?”

“I will be. Eventually.” Felwinter drew back with a sigh. Then he clapped his hands against his thighs, “So! Food.”

Moth moved back, “There’s food downstairs.”

“I know that.”

“You know how to cook too.”

“Oh come on!” He whined, “I’m sad!”

Moth waved him off and went back to the desk. “I’m sure cooking for yourself will provide an excellent distraction.”

Felwinter groaned loudly, ripped himself out of the chair and stomped towards the exit like an oversized child. “Felwinter?” Moth called once he reached the door.

“Eh?”

“Two pieces of chicken with mine, please.”

Silence for a long time. Then a sigh, “Extra pepper?”

“Of course. We’re not Nords. We can handle spicy foods.”

Felwinter grinned. “I’m telling every Nord in Whiterun you said that.”

“Someone should.”

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who is new or just wants to be reminded, there will be a longer, Part 2 to this story. It’s main focus will be my take on the events of Dragonborn and while it will be significantly more serious and emotional, there will still be plenty of humor because it’s Felwinter
> 
> There will also be an interlude between the two. A short prequel fic mostly from Moth’s pov taking place from the day they met till Alduin’s defeat, one month before the beginning of ADL. It will be...explicit


	21. Chapter Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the late upload. I did not expect this to become as long as it did. Figured I could actually fit the entire arc but it would’ve numbered into 10K words

Felwinter puffed out a frosty breath through tightly clenched teeth. He pulled his cloak tighter around himself. “I really might shave this down, grow my hair out again. This cold is ridiculous.” he bit out, pulling his hood further down over his head. He made the suggestion to himself but knew he would never go through with it.

He didn’t need to see Isran every time he looked in a reflective surface.

He hadn’t been to the Dawnguard Fort since the fight. He would make trips to Riften, to check in on Serana and they had located the Moth Priest but never further. He’d have to go back again someday. Harkon would not wait for him to keep pushing off the inevitable.

But that was neither here nor there at the moment. As he trudged through the snowy banks of Eastmarch, the moderately sized crypt entrance tunnel came into view. Snow Veil Sanctum. Mercer Frey had requested his presence and should be below.

A blast of biting wind sent his cloak flying back and knocked his hood off. He grabbed the sides and violently wrenched them back. He could be in bed right now. Under warm covers, consummating his marriage for the umpteenth time, he thought as his mouth spread in a grin.

His foot hit a thin spot of snow and sank in, causing him to stumble in his distraction. He yanked his foot out and continued on, now having to lift up his feet and waddle through the snow. He didn’t even like Mercer. And Mercer didn’t like him. Why did he need Felwinter’s help for this Karliah person?

Why did Felwinter even agree?

Maven. He remembered bitterly the little talking to she gave him before he went to see Mercer. That he was to do anything he ordered him next to do. The threat of retribution if he failed to comply was silent but glaringly present. She knew they were going after Karliah but her warning tipped Felwinter off that she knew more than she was letting on, than even Mercer explained.

He could handle walking into a situation without all the information. But not with someone he doesn’t trust at his back.

Felwinter reached the lip of the ruin. The winds had dropped and Felwinter noted with raised eyebrows the ruined camp and the dead horse. Karliah’s most likely. Mercer was below, leaning against the crypt door. Felwinter didn’t bother with the stairs, just tipping off and letting himself drop to the ground.

“Finally,” Frey said irritably. He jerked his thumb at the stone door, “I’m certain she’s still inside.”

“Can I assume you have a key?” Felwinter asked, examining the door, wondering if he could blow it down if need be.

Mercer Frey pushed off the wall and pushed the door. It opened easily. “Figured out the lock a while back.” He jerked his head towards the opening, “I want to catch her while she’s distracted. Take the lead.”

Felwinter’s head drew back in disbelief, “Take the lead?”

“That a problem?”

“Sounds like you’re making me the main target of a possible ambush,” Felwinter said bluntly, “So yeah, it’s a problem.”

Mercer crosses his arms. “I'm sorry, I was under the impression I was in charge.”

“Not your fault. So was I. Leaders _lead_ , Frey.”

“Well, I’m not your leader, Felwinter. I’m your boss. Your _master_ ,” Mercer snapped, a barely restrained look in his eyes, “I’m not telling you. I’m ordering you.” He stepped out of the way of the entrance and gave Felwinter an expectant look. Felwinter held his gaze for a few seconds longer before grumbling under his breath and stepping inside.

An odor wafted through the stagnant air of the catacombs; the expected and too familiar stench of death and decay. Felwinter led the way inside, Mercer on his heels, using the light of the torches to guide them. However Karliah got inside, rshe made sure to leave absolutely no signs.

“Hold a moment,” Felwinter murmured, raising his hand. They were standing before the first open room. A dessicated, armored corpse lay prone on the floor, unmoving. Felwinter took in a deep, chest filling breath and Shouted, “ _LAAS YAH NIR.”_ The world went black for a heartbeat before returning to light. A large red cloud of energy seemed to dance within the Draugr laying before them and many more ahead. This place was far from empty.

Felwinter brought up a hand and let loose a bolt of fire. The Draugr went up in a short lived blaze. The crimson wisp drifted away from the body.

“I had a feeling it was alive,” Mercer growled, “Disgusting bastards.”

“Well this place is crawling with them. Or stumbling, I guess.” Felwinter nonchalantly stepped over the smoking body, “So Karliah. Tell me about her.”

“Is right now really the best time?”

Felwinter raised his arms, gesturing around them, “Not like there’s anything else going on around here.”

Frey sighed. Then he stopped and turned his eyes away, “Karliah destroyed everything this Guild once stood for,” he said, a far away bitterness entering his voice, “She murdered my predecessor, my friend in cold blood and betrayed the Guild. I took the position in his honor but…I’ve had to lead the Guild down some dark paths.”

Felwinter stopped short of snorting. He was understating. Both paused at the sound of movement. More undead up ahead. Mercer darted ahead, skewering one on his bronze sword. Felwinter quickly made for the second one only to see a bronze dagger embed itself within the dried skull. Felwinter stepped away as the Draugr pitched forward.

Mercer stepped forward from behind him, “Am I moving too fast for you?” He mocked, kicking over the corpse and ripping his dagger out.

Fel blinked at his sudden appearance. Then shrugged, “If you’ve got this handled, then you’ve got this handled. I could go home if-”

Mercer pointed his sword in the direction that led deeper in. Felwinter sighed, “Right. You were saying before?” Mercer sheathed his weapons and Felwinter continued walking.

“Karliah’s betrayal hit us hard,” he went on, “Allying with Maven was the only way to keep the Guild from falling to pieces. We would’ve made significant headway towards independence if you hadn’t fucked up Delvin’s job at Honningbrew.”

“Surprised Delvin wasn’t angrier about that.”

“Mallory’s affection is easily bought,” Mercer grumbled, “Give that drunken lout enough liquor and he’d drop to his knees on the spot. He was easier to put up with when his brother was around.”

Felwinter’s eyebrows raised at the man’s sudden venom. He could see the flexing jaw muscles in Frey’s pale skin and a throbbing vein just underneath his hair. Felwinter would’ve guessed nervousness at a first glance but there was a tenseness in the air that said otherwise.

“After we discovered what Karliah had done, we spent months trying to track her down.” Mercer’s voice had become gruffer. “But she just vanished. Now she’s back and her recent actions would have crippled us beyond repair. I need to put an end to this once and for all, so pick up the pace. I want to get this over with.”

* * *

“One of those infamous Nordic puzzle doors.” Mercer sucked his teeth, “How quaint.”

Frey might as well have been talking to himself. They had been traversing the crypt and fighting nonstop for what felt like hours. Felwinter had already had to walk here from Riften and had just barely managed to avoid being killed by the traps Karliah had somehow managed to avoid and reset. He was too exhausted to listen to anybody’s grumbling except his own.

Mercer didn’t seem tired in the slightest. The man almost looked jumpy; excited to finally get his hands on the one person who had caused him and his people so much grief for so long.

Felwinter hadn’t expected himself to start caring about them. The Guild was a means to an end; stealing was always means to an end mixed in with a little revolt against authority. He had no plans to make a career of it. But then he found himself making the occasional visit outside of when he was actually required. He’d play cards with Delvin and Tonila, trade snipes with Vex and just talk with Brynjolf.

They weren’t the threats he had thought them to be before. They weren’t the Brotherhood. Sure, everyone of them had a level of greyness to their morality that surpassed his own but it never seemed to go further than their job and at times, even interfered with it.

A home Vex had been working had caught fire. She could’ve easily used the distraction to grab what she sought and flee the scene but in her own words, some dumb kid had locked himself inside one of the rooms. Felwinter learned about it after he sat down and listened to Vex drunkenly rant for a solid hour about her botched job and the stupid, terrified little brat.

He called her a hero and got punched for his compliment. Then he told her that her cheeks just lit up bright red. She quickly blamed the drink, punched him again and then spent the rest of the day with a smile on her face, small and hidden; for her and her alone.

Despite how harshly Mercer spoke about them at times, it was becoming clearer that he cared for the well being of the Guild and its members in the long run; otherwise he wouldn’t be here. Felwinter didn’t see why before. He did now.

This wouldn’t fix things, not completely but it would bring about closure and peace of mind.

“I don’t see any claws lying around,” Felwinter said, “They’re impossible to operate otherwise.”

“And no doubt she ran off with it.” Mercer took a knee close to the door, “Luckily, with a bit of know how and skill…” Felwinter watched as Mercer manipulates the gate mechanisms. He couldn’t keep up with what the man was doing but after about a minute of working, they both heard the tell tale clunk of the old door unlocking. Mercer stepped back to watch his handiwork. Dust shook down from the ceiling as the door folded inwards and downwards on itself.

Mercer gestured to the now open pathway into the main sanctum, very obviously proud of himself, “So?”

“Wow,” was all Felwinter could say.

“Good answer. After you.”

Finally, it was time to end this. Felwinter readjusted his grip on Zazikel, dropped his head low and moved in. The sanctum was glaringly silent; the combined sounds of dripping water, their heavy footsteps and his own breathing seemed ear splitting in comparison. A hazy white mist filled the room to the ceiling, twisting the shadows into shapes just behind them.

Felwinter turned around to check all of his sides. He could feel eyes on him. “Do you see her?”

“No. But she’s in here, I’m sure of it.”

Felwinter sucked in a breath. “ _LAAS,”_ he Shouted. The multiple red wisps of light appeared behind the walls, too far away to be Karliah.

Now his nerves were really alight. Not even the dead can hide from him and yet…

A sudden movement in the corner of his eye drew his attention. Felwinter spun around towards his back, where Mercer was.

Where Mercer should have been.

Felwinter turned to face forward again, just in time to hear a slight whistle in the air and feel a dull pressure suddenly appear in his chest. His breath caught All he felt was shock at first. Then hot liquid running down his chest. Only then did he notice it; a long shaft and a feathered tail. An arrow, buried on the left of his chest through a gap in his armor that should have been impossible to reach.

The pain set in last; so agonizing and blinding that attempting to speak only resulted in gasped half words. His legs turned to stone and Felwinter dropped, his head hitting the stone cold ground with a loud, dizzying crack.

Mercer was speaking, his voice echoing off the walls of the old tomb but still Felwinter couldn’t see him, “Did you honestly think your arrow would reach me before my blade finds your heart?" He appeared in Felwinter’s line of sight again, further away and seemingly talking to the shadows.

"Give me a reason to try." A woman’s voice this time. From the mist, a figure stepped before Mercer. Felwinter’s vision was too hazy to make out a face. He didn’t need to anyway.

"You're a clever girl, Karliah,” Mercer teased, “Buying Goldenglow Estate and funding Honningbrew Meadery was inspired."

"To ensure an enemy's defeat, you must first undermine his allies.” Karliah sounded as if she was reciting someone. “It was the first lesson Gallus taught us."

"You always were a quick study."

"Not quick enough, otherwise Gallus would still be alive,” Karliah seemed to say more to herself than the man in front of her. Her voice was thick with emotion.

"Gallus had his wealth and he had you. All he had to do was look the other way!"

"Did you forget the Oath we took as Nightingales? Did you expect him to simply ignore your methods, Mercer?!"

"Enough of this mindless banter! Come, Karliah.” Mercer ripped both his sword and dagger from their sheathes, “It's time for you and Gallus to become reunited!"

But the Dunmer thief started to back away, "I'm no fool, Mercer. Crossing blades with you would be a death sentence.” She disappeared into the mist again, her disembodied voice ringing out, “But I can promise you the next time we meet, it will be your undoing."

Mercer Frey let out a disapproving grunt, relaxed his stance and stared off into the mist. Felwinter’s weak sounds got ahold of his attention. He slowly walked towards Felwinter’s body and squat down, letting Felwinter see his face. "About damn time huh?” He asked, sheathing his dagger but keeping his sword in hand, “This whole…” he waved his hand in the air, “thing was getting on my very last nerve. Leading this Guild, putting up with the idiots I do.”

Mercer’s free gloved hand reached out and started to dig around Felwinter’s neck. He found a chain and pulled tugged. Felwinter’s wedding band dangled out of his armor. Felwinter’s eyes twitched downward and then back up to Mercer’s face, filled with confusion and a hint of fear. What in Oblivion was he doing?

“How interesting,” he murmured, examining the ring, “It appears Gallus's history has repeated itself. You see, I’ve been planning this for years and you happened to be the biggest threat to my schemes. But it seems Karliah has provided me with the means to be rid of you.”

Fear started to fill Felwinter’s mind. He let out a grunt of exertion as he tried to force himself to overcome the poison, force himself to move. Mercer straightened up and tightened his grip on his blade. Felwinter’s eyes followed every movement, even if his head couldn’t. His throat felt as if it were closing up. He couldn’t move; he could barely breath and he could hear the too slow beating of his heart.

Mercer kneeled again. Felwinter let out a small choked sound of terror when he did, “And this ancient tomb becomes your final resting place. It’s almost poetic, isn’t it? But do you know what intrigues me the most? The fact that this was all possible because of you. I’m grateful but you’ve been too much of a pain in my ass for me not to enjoy this. Farewell, Drakon. I'll be certain to give the others your regards."

Mercer jabbed forward with the sword. Felwinter felt his body slide back across the ground with the force a sudden dull pressure against the side of his neck. His eyes widened, his fingers started to twitch, fighting off Karliah’s poison but to no avail.

He couldn’t move. His neck was cut, he was bleeding out and couldn’t fucking move. His body ignored him, his magic refused to come when he called it.

Mercer watched gleefully as the blood started to run down his armor, onto the ground and as Felwinter desperately tried to regain control. He reached out, grabbed Felwinter’s sword as well as the chain holding his wedding band and yanked it off.

He trusted him. Felwinter had trusted him….

Pure, unbridled rage took over the panic. Through sheer force of will, Felwinter managed to break through the poisons hold on him and slowly bring his arm up, reaching out for Mercer, to grab him to pull his back, to squeeze the life from him. The poison soon restablished control. Felwinter’s arm fell to the ground and his vision darkened as he watched Mercer walk away, his wedding ring dangling from his fist.

* * *

Felwinter woke up thrashing. He twisted off of his back to his hands and knees, heaving loudly into the ground. The brown leather of a sleeping roll came into view underneath him. He

heard the sound of snow crunching; footsteps getting closer.

“Easy, easy. Don’t get up so quickly.” A hand touched his naked back. His head turned towards the voice. The Dunmer standing over him had concern in her eyes, “How are you feeling?”

Her voice set off alarms within his head. Before either of them realized what was happening, Felwinter’s arm darted up and his large hand wrapped around the Dunmar woman’s thin neck.

Karliah gasped in surprise and pain as she was suddenly lifted off the ground. Felwinter’s eyes were wide and his pupils were tiny black dots in a sea of white. “You… _you_ _SHOT ME,_ ” he rasped, a thick vein throbbing on his temple.

She gasped for breath and his hand tightened. “I _saved_ you,” she choked out. She could feel her vision start to dim, “My poison kept your from bleeding out when Mercer stabbed you!”

“Mercer…” Felwinter unceremoniously dropped her, leaving her coughing violently in the snow. His hand shot up to the side of his neck where he could feel a raised wound, stitched tightly shut. Memories came flooding back. Mercer standing over him, hos own dark blood pooling under him just barely in sight.

So close. His breathing started to become ragged, panicked. He had been so close. Felwinter felt his legs give out. He fell to his knees, shaking hands both at his neck as he relived over and over the full sensation of his neck being opened.

Helgen intersected. Helpless as soldiers held him down to keep him from thrashing. The headman’s axe raised high and already for the downswing when massive black wings blocked out the sun and an inhuman voice rent the sky asunder.

“Calm down,” he bit out, his hands still around his neck. He started rocking on his knees, “Calm down…calm…calm.” Hot tears dripped down his face as he let out a choked cry.

“Why did you save me?” He asked with a hoarse voice, his throat raw with barely contained sobs.

Karliah was standing now. She kept her distance from the near hysterical man, a hand on her belt. Just in case. “I never had a clear shot on Mercer. You were in the way. His idea, I take it?”

Despite himself, Felwinter snorted.

“I made the split second decision to use the poison on you and save your life.” Her hand rubbed her throat, where his fingers had dug in, “So much for gratitude.”

Felwinter felt himself relax, the fear and panic finally draining out him, leaving him exhausted and sluggish. “How long have I been out?” He asked, touching his neck again.

“Three days.”

He turned on her, eyes wide, “Three…shit.” Felwinter scrambled to his feet, noticing he was in nothing but a pair of leggings. He found one of his packs next to the bedroll, yanked it open and let out a relieved sigh. The crystal pendant was still safe. He wrapped his hand around the crystal base and felt it come to life. Moth’s deep voice appeared from the other end instantly. “Felwinter?”

Felwinter let out a relieved laugh. “Moth, I…”

“What in Oblivion is the matter with you?!” Moth suddenly exploded, “How do you just drop off the face of the Tamriel like that? No warning!”

Felwinter flinched at his tone. “I-I’m sorry. Something… happened and I was out of it for a little while,” he stuttered out. Then he quickly added, “But I’m safe! And I’m sorry I put you through that.”

“Something. It’s always fucking something,” Moth’s tone was harsh, nearly mocking, “I had to spend the last three days lying to our children just so they could go to sleep at night, Felwinter!”

His heart nearly seized. “I’m sorry,” he whispered into the crystal, “Really, I’m…I-”

An exhausted, frustrated sigh came out from the crystal. He heard the sound of footsteps on wooden boards then the creaking of a mattress.The Orc’s voice softened to a pained whisper, “My love. Are you okay?”

“Yes. Yes I’m fine.” His weak voice reminded him of himself in childhood, just finished with being scolded by his mother for exploring places he should not have or getting into a fight a Breton noble’s son who had been looking for one and taking it too far.

“How soon can you come home?”

“Not for a little while, Moth.” Felwinter turned to look at Karliah, who had been keeping a respectful distance. “The…something…It's still a problem I need to handle.”

“I expect the full story when you return. Do you understand me?” Moth ordered.

“You’ll have it,” he promised, “The axe? Is it ready?”

“Nearly. Do you need it?”

“No. No, it’s yours. It was always yours,” Felwinter said, “I still need to add that enchantment I found but hold on to it.”

Moth went silent for a few seconds. Then he asked in a low voice, “Are you expecting trouble?”

Felwinter rubbed the back of his neck, “Maybe. I don’t know. Just…keep it on you. Be prepared to move to Markarth or Solitude if necessary. And keep Lydia, Argis and Jordis nearby.”

“I will,” Moth said, “Felwinter.”

“Yes?”

“Handle this quickly. Then come home to us. Please.”

“I will.”

The connection cut. Felwinter’s hand tightened around the crystal, holding it close to his heart, where he could still feel the wound from the arrow. He got to his feet. He just started to notice how cold it was. “Why do you want Mercer alive, Karliah?” He asked, searching for his shirt.

“So I could take him before the Guild to answer for what he has done and clear my name,” she said, eyes following him as he started to strap on his armor.

“He murdered Gallus.”

“Yes.” The emotion that had been in her voice before returned. Gallus had been important to her, he could tell. A lover, most likely. “Before the two of you arrived, I found a journal on Gallus’ remains. But it’s written in a language I can’t figure out. I don’t know what he was trying to say.”

“No translators?”

“It’s a long shot,” she answered, “But there may be one. At the College of Winterhold. Enthir.”

Fel’s eyebrows raised, “I know him.”

“You attend the College?”

“You could say that.” Felwinter fastened the last buckle of his armor. He could’ve just called it onto himself but this gave him something to do, something to put his nervous energy towards. “Is it too much to assume you’ll also need my help? I heard you speaking to him.”

“I figured I would, yes,” she began, crossing her arms, “But now I’m not so sure I can trust you.”

“Look, I apologize for attacking you. In my defense, I almost died,” he snapped, sounding not at all apologetic, “It won’t happen again. You want Mercer, you’ll get him. Meet me in Winterhold a day from now.” Felwinter started to walk towards the trees, towards the northwest.

“I saw him take your ring,” Karliah suddenly called out. He stopped. “And your sword. I have a spare if you need it.”

He turned to look at her again. He saw genuine pity in her eyes. She really wasn’t the monster she was made out to be. “I’ll get the ring back when we find him, either from him or from who he sold it to. But I’ll get it back.”

“As for the sword…” Felwinter’s mouth stretched into a vicious smile, full of sharp, glimmering teeth. He stretched out one dragonbone clad arm and in a bright flash of light, Zazikel reappeared, responding to the summons of its one and only master.

“They teach you that at the College?” Karliah asked, obviously impressed, “After this is over, I may enroll myself.”

Felwinter called the sword’s scabbard to his other hand. He sheathed Zazikel and strapped it to his back at waist level, just slightly off parallel with the ground. He hesitated before taking off. Then he turned his head and said, “Thank you. For saving me.”

Karliah blinked in surprise. She quickly recovered, “It’s fine. I’ll meet you at the College.”

Felwinter nodded and started walking again. If Mercer had the blade on his person , he would know now; Felwinter had survived and Felwinter was coming for him.

Frey would have to spend his last few days alive looking over his shoulder, checking every bush, jumping at every sudden moving shape.

The Dragonborn smiled. Good. Because Felwinter would find him. And when he did, he was going to drag him back to Riften, make him confess to his crimes on his knees in front of the entire guild and then Felwinter was going to rip him to bloody pieces.

Literally.

  



	22. Chapter Twenty One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pray for Mercer Frey

 

Karliah closed the book in her hands and slipped it back into its original spot on the shelf. She slid a long finger across the spines of others, picking one at random and pulling it out. She was getting antsy. Mercer could be anywhere with the distance she allowed him when she chose to save Felwinter's life.

Felwinter walked her into the College of Winterhold like he ran the place, only for Karliah to find out he actually sort of did. Then he got them into Enthir's room, which was empty and declared they would wait for him there. Considering how much they needed him, she wasn't in a position to argue. So saving his life has turned out to her advantage.

At least, that was what she had to tell herself. Being in a closed space with him was uncomfortable, like being in a closed space with an injured sabercat. Or dragon, as she belatedly recalled exactly who he was. Something was rolling off of him in waves and it was making the hairs on the back of Karliah's neck stand on end. But one wouldn't know it by looking at him. He had a completely calm look to him, sitting in Enthir's chair, whistling a soft, slow tune.

All while filing the fingers of his pitch black dragonbone gauntlets into viciously sharp claws with a magically heated knife.

He told her he wouldn't hurt her and she trusted him not to. But every once in a while, the sound of metal on metal infused bone would stop and out of the corner of her eye, she would see him touch the wound on his neck with hands that just barely shook. After a few seconds, the filing would start up again with significantly more vigor, as did the whistling; as if he was looking forward to something. As if he was excited.

Footsteps approaching the door stopped them both in their tracks. Enthir quickly opened the door, entered and nearly jumped out of his skin when he finally noticed them. "Karliah? What in the world are you doing here?!"

Felwinter had managed to slip behind him and push his door closed. Enthir's eyes darted down to the knife, still in his hand. "We need your help, Enthir," Karliah said.

"'Gallus's journal," Felwinter continued, holding the booklet up to him, "We need it translated."

"Are you kidding?" Enthir demanded, "Do you know what Mercer will do to me if he finds out you're here, Karliah?" He pushed past Felwinter towards his desk.

"Mercer has betrayed the Guild, Enthir." The single sentence stopped the mage in his tracks. He turned, his eyes darting back and forth between the two.

"He cut my neck while I was down in a fight. I nearly bled out." Felwinter put his near death experience rather bluntly. Enthir's eyes darted to the stitched side of his dark neck and narrowed in a wince. "Karliah says this is the way to him and she says you're the only one who knows what the language is. Can you help us?"

"Enthir." Karliah moved between him and Felwinter, who was, either knowingly or not, starting to loom over him, "This might be my chance to end this once and for all. Please."

He held her gaze for just a few seconds longer before taking the book Felwinter was offering. He opened it, took it back to his desk, moved Felwinter's gauntlets and sat down. Karliah moved to look over his shoulder while Felwinter remained back, leaning against the door and watching them. Soon enough, he grew bored with that and called his gauntlet back to his arm to continue his...modifications. Loudly. He knew he was distracting them but despite his pseudo-noble upbringing, politeness was never one of his best traits and he was much too wired to care.

Mercer. Mercer was all he could think about. The man's grinning face intruded on every thought he had. He wanted Mercer dead more than he had ever wanted anyone's death before. Maybe the Silver Hand's for Kodlak or his grandfather's.

He'd spare the eyes. Whatever he decided to do, he wanted Mercer to see it coming.

"Felwinter!" The man jerked out of his thoughts and looked down at the knife in his hands, mildly surprised to see the blade dulled beyond repair. Didn't matter, the gauntlets were done. "What is it?" He asked.

"This language, Felwinter, its Falmer." Enthir turned back to the journal and beckoned him closer. Felwinter leaned over his shoulder and stared down at the writing. He had studied Falmer languages for a time; mandatory lessons with his mother so some letters became familiar after the Bosmer pointed it out.

"An Altmer in Markarth is your best bet," he continued, closing the book, "Calcelmo, court wizard. He'll be able to translate it where I can't."

"Calcelmo, I know him." Felwinter's lips quirked into a smile that was actually genuinely, "He owes me a favor anyway."

Enthir sighed, "For what, may I ask? I know what it's like to owe you 'favors'."

"I'm the reason he's getting laid on a regular basis," Felwinter responded proudly. Then he thought about what he had said, "Then again, I went and got her exiled….think he'll mind?"

"Thank you, Enthir." Karliah took the journal from him, "Felwinter and I will head to Markarth and-"

"No,  _I_  will head to Markarth," Felwinter corrected, taking the book out of her hand, "Wait for me in the Frozen Hearth."

"With all due respect, Felwinter, I move faster."

"With all due respect, Karliah, I'm not a wanted criminal." Felwinter tucked the book into one of his packs, slung it over his shoulder and made for the door. "Then again, I don't count the Thalmor." He stopped before opening it and fitting the gauntlet over his hand. He examined the sharp clawed fingers in the dim torchlight then pressed one finger against the stone wall and dragged it down.

The sound was ear splitting. Slowly with surprising strength, he carved a deep, straight groove into the hard reinforced stone of Enthir's wall. Felwinter pulled his finger out and examined it. No damage whatsoever. Enthir's and Karliah's wary stares followed him until he pulled open the door, stepped through and closed it behind him.

"Has he always been like this?" Karliah asked lowly, almost worried he might hear them.

"No. To be honest, not at-" The door suddenly burst open again. Karliah's hand flew to one of her knives and Enthir nearly tipped out of his seat. Smiling, Felwinter brought his armored finger up to the wall again and this time, drew two short horizontal lines from the top and middle of the vertical line then slammed the door shut again, cackling like mad all the way down the hall.

"See now,  _that_ … _that's_  more like him," Enthir finished, glowering at the very glaring and very permanent letter "F" carved into his wall.

* * *

 

"Oi! Wake up!"

The blonde guardsman jumped, almost letting his helmet clatter from his hands. His superior's covered head came fuller into view. "Captain, I…"

The captain's grunted and after a few seconds, softened his voice. "You not been sleeping lad?"

The young man smiled sheepishly, "Still getting used to this new shift, ser." The Captain beckoned him to make room on the bench he had been sitting on. "Plus, nothing ever happens in here."

"Aye, I hear that." The captain sat down and pulled his helmet off, running his fingers through thick brown hair and flattening his beard. "Today May be different though. Saw the Dovahkiin, Felwinter, arguing with Calcelmo about getting in here."

The young guard vaguely recalled a tall dark skinned man walking around with the Jarl, discussing the silver mines. "You think he'll be a problem?"

"Wouldn't put it past him to try and sneak in here. So try to keep awake, alright?" The captain clapped the young guard on the shoulder and squeezed. The blonde Nord turned bright red.

A bit of pinkness made its way into the captain's own cheeks and he quickly withdrew. "So," he cleared his throat, "Your mother. How is she?"

"S-She's fine!" The young guard stammered out with a small smile, "She's doing better now, actually."

The older man smiled, "Up and moving?"

"As she always did before." The young man's smile deepened and the captain couldn't help but grin back. He lifted his hand to move a strand of the young man's hair away from his cheek and tucked it behind his ear, exposing his dimpled cheeks. The young man's breath caught and he turned. His captain's deep green eyes bored into his own. He hadn't even realized how close they were sitting together. Being near him just felt so right.

"Gods above, look at you," the captain's hot breath ghosted over his lips. When the young man didn't move to close the distance and he pulled back, disappointment and guilt lacing his features. "Lad, I'm sorry if I've been making you un-"

The young guard suddenly shook out of his daze, grabbed him by the face and pulled him into a rough kiss. His grunt of surprise turned into a deep moan as he pushed closer in.

Felwinter darted from the shadows, closing the distance before they could do much as react and casting a paralysis spell. Both men slumped over without a sound, completely asleep.

Now alone, Felwinter stopped giving a damn about his volume. "Dibella's ass, finally!" He gripped the crystal pendent in his hand, waiting for Moth's voice to come through. " _Did they kiss?_ " The Orc asked.

"They took their sweet time but yes!" He hefted the older man over his shoulder. "So much tension, I almost kissed someone myself!" He gently lay the man on the ground some feet from where he had been before.

" _You didn't have to wait for them, you know."_

"I know but they remind me of us. I'm happy for them." Felwinter adjusted the younger man's head so he wouldn't wake up with a crick in his neck.

" _Of us. Right. You mean besides them actually courting?_ "

Felwinter snorted, "Waste of time."

" _Agreed._   _Have you found the guide? What are you doing now?"_

"Moving them around so that it looks like they were attacked."

" _Wouldn't that give you being there away?"_ the necklace buzzed

Felwinter shrugged. "Who's going to do anything about it? Besides, look at them…"

" _I can't."_

"They look so good together, I'd hate to get them fired."

" _You're a good man, Felwinter_."

"Did my breaking, entering and assault give it away?" Felwinter pushed through a set of brass doors at the end of the room and closed it softly behind them. Down a steep stairway in a dimly lit room stood a stone tablet. "Wait, I think I see something." Felwinter jogged down the stairs. The closer he got, the clearer it became. He had found the guide.

And behind it was a small bench, overlooking the exit below. Felwinter stepped around the guide and moved to the bench. On it laid a rather bulky Dwemer style gauntlet. A flash of recognition came to Felwinter, accompanied by a slight headache; an after effect of looking into the Elder Scrolls one too many time, letting him see into other realities outside of their own. He picked it up and strapped it around his wrist, as if he had seen it done many times before.

" _Fel?_ " Moth's concerned voice came from the crystal. Felwinter nearly forgot he wasn't supposed to in here.

Felwinter tightened his fist and flexed his wrist under the gauntlet. The brace clicked audibly and shifted on his arm but otherwise nothing. "Sorry, Moth," he finally answered, trying again and achieving the same lack of results. He took the gauntlet off and placed it back in its place. Next to it was a small booklet of paper. "But I found something interesting." He flipped through the papers. "The Dwemer really were technological geniuses," he murmured.

" _What did you find?"_

"A shield. Fits over the wrist-"

" _How unique_."

"Childishness is my thing, thank you," Fel reminded him, tucking Calcelmo's notes into his pack. "And it's collapsable. Folds in on itself with a flex of the wrist!"

"… _Huh. That is amazing."_

"Calcelmo's been trying to repair this one. But I think I can build one from scratch with his notes."

" _You're stealing it?"_

"Thieves Guild, remember?" Felwinter thought about it for a second. Then he slipped the shield into his pack as well. "Gonna need a reference."

" _The guide, Felwinter. Mercer is getting away."_

"No, he won't." He crossed back to the stone tablet with Falmer language inscribed. "Just give me , I have to copy this down, don't I?" He whined as he already started to unfold the roll of paper from his pack, flattening it along the stone.

" _Can't you use magic?"_

"What?" Felwinter's face scrunched up, "No, that's ridiculous."

"… _How is that-"_

"Moth, please! I need to focus." He grinned when Moth grumbled in response. He took out his piece of charcoal and started to rub it across the lettering.

* * *

 

"This is…surprising," Enthir rocked on his hands, hunched over Felwinter's rubbings.

Karliah stirred from her introspection to look at him from underneath her hood. For the last half hour, Enthir had the rubbings spread out on the table with the journal in one hand and a quill for transcribing in the other. Felwinter stayed closer to the door of the inn's basement, fiddling with a strange bronze bracer. "What did you find?" she asked, standing up and rounding Enthir's table.

"Well, it seems Gallus had suspicions about Mercer for months before his death," Enthir spoke while still translating and transcribing, "The man had a strangely lavish lifestyle than would be expected of a professional thief."

Karliah hummed in disdain, "Yes, I've seen his house. And the guards he has patrolling it."

"I'm burning it!" Felwinter called from his distance away.

"Well, you should've seen the inside," Enthir went on, "Alcohol, drugs, women and the like. And it says…" Enthir paused to finish writing a sentence and then put down the quill. Karliah heard Felwinter's approaching steps. "Says that he was dipping into the Guild treasury to do it."

She wanted to deny that claim outright. That couldn't be possible as he would need two keys to break into the vault. Unless he had an accomplice. "What else does it say?" She pushed on, "Anything about the Nightingales?"

"About birds?" Felwinter asked from behind her.

"Something something something 'the failure of the Nightingales'. He doesn't go into great detail. Also something about the desecration of something called the Twilight Sepulcher."

Karliah's hand tightened into a shaking fist. Felwinter watched as she bit into her lips and her eyes glazed over in barely restrained rage. Then she blinked and the anger was gone or at least very well masked. "Thank you, Enthir. We have to get this information back to the Guild."

"Wait, Karliah, this Twilight Sepulcher, what is it?" Enthir's voice stopped her before she could turn around, "Why is it so important?"

"I wish I could tell you, Enthir." She sounded sincere.

He shook his head, "It's fine. Just…just be careful." He held his own translation, the charcoal rubbing and Gallus' journal up to Felwinter, who took them and packed them away.

Karliah nodded once and started for the door, throwing it open and jogging up the stairs. Felwinter let her get ahead before slowly starting after her.

"Felwinter?"

The Dragonborn turned back to Enthir.

"Watch her," was all he said. "And Mercer. Find him."

Felwinter's lips slowly stretched up into a smile, full of teeth and completely devoid of kindness before taking a few steps backwards and turning around.

* * *

"So, the Twilight Sepulcher. What is it?"

Karliah looked up at Felwinter, her eyes having been glued to the ground under her feet. They were in the Ratways. Neither had felt the need to stop and rest, too driven by anger and vengeance to sit for more than an hour at a time. She looked back ground. Her nervousness was palpable. "You've come this far. And I feel you're the type to find out either way," she said, "It's the temple to Nocturnal. Nightingales are sworn to protect it and its secrets."

More Daedric shit. Molag Bal was still waiting for him. "Promises never seemed to mean much to Mercer Frey, given how he's been working with Maven." Felwinter remarked.

"He's desecrated the very thing we've sworn to protect," she spat out bitterly. Riften started to come into view from behind the orange leaved trees, "We need to stop him. Before he makes things even worse."

She stopped before the entrance of the Ragged Flagon and Felwinter had to keep from colliding with her. She paid him no mind, simply staring at the old wooden door. "Get behind me," Felwinter told her, "And keep your hood down."

Felwinter pushed through the door. The flagon was empty but for a few drunken stragglers. Felwinter had barely noticed how late at night had been. Karliah followed closely, nearly attached to his back as they headed for the entrance of the cistern. Her hand was kept wrapped tightly around the hilt of her dagger and her eyes darted in the direction of every wooden creak that reached her sharp ears.

Felwinter opened the door to the cistern, his eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness.

Unlike the Flagon, it was far from empty.

Brynjolf stood from his seat at the center of the cistern, blade in hand and a menacing scowl where there had always been an easy grin with Delvin and Sapphire to his left, Vex and Tonilia to his right.

"Did you think we wouldn't be watching our own city?" Brynjolf demanded. The Nord took a step closer to Karliah and Felwinter moved between them. "Explain lad," he snapped at Felwinter, eyes never leaving the Dunmer behind him, "Because you better have a damn good reason for bringing her here."

Finding her voice and her nerve, Karliah stepped out from behind Felwinter, lowering her hood and raising her hands in peace. "Please, everyone. Lower your weapons. I have proof that you've all been deceived!"

"Gallus' journal." Felwinter held it up and out to Brynjolf. The man snatched it out of his hand, eyes still on Karliah. "In there, you'll find that Gallus suspected Mercer of betraying the Guild. And he was right."

"That is a lie," Vex spat out, the only one who hadn't lowered her weapon when Brynjolf did.

Brynjolf exhaled sharply, "I don't believe this," he breathed, eyes frantically running down each and every page. He closed the journal roughly, his pale skin red with anger. "No. No!" He bit out, "I've known known Mercer for too long."

Felwinter watched as the internal struggle to believe them danced across his face. He barely reacted when Tonilia took the journal from his hand to read it herself, his eyes swiveling back and forth, searching every memory he had of their time together for any sign that Felwinter and Karliah were right or wrong. The others seemed just as shaken.

Delvin caught Felwinter's eyes. There was a pleading look to them, almost as if the man was begging for this to not be true. Felwinter nodded slowly and watched the painful realization set in.

"Delvin." Brynjolf's rough voice broke the ringing silence. "Open the vault."

Delvin looked at him like he had grown a second head. "Bryn, I can get cheating is out of our cuts but that lock… He pointed at the large double doors at the other side of the cistern, "That lock cannot be opened. Not without both keys."

"I've seen him do things like that," Felwinter recalled, recalling how this all started. "He opened Nordic puzzle locks like they were child's play when we tracked down Karliah." They were walking towards the vault door, Delvin pulling his key out from beneath his clothing.

"I don't spend much time in tombs, lad," Brynjolf said, "I'd need a frame of reference."

"I can't even magically  _blow_ Nordic puzzle doors open. Not without dropping the entire tomb on my head first," he explained as they watched Delvin approach the door, "The monsters they keep in there can't even do it. Deathlords, Dragon Priests. But him? He just walked up to every locked door in the Sanctum, touched them a few times and they practically fell open for him."

"He didn't need to pick the lock," Karliah muttered so lowly that only Felwinter heard her and even then he couldn't begin to guess what he meant.

Delvin opened the first lock to the vault. Then he stepped back and let Brynjolf take the second. Both men put their hands to the door and with some effort, pushed it open.

The revelation ended with Delvin holding Vex back as she tried to stomp her way out of the cistern, spitting oaths and curses that would make a sailor's ears turn red. Everything was gone. Every chest was open and had been emptied. Years worth of the Guild's hard work and sacrifices made away with like it had all meant nothing. Felwinter belatedly remembered that it was his work too; as if he didn't already have a good reason to kill this man.

Brynjolf's hands were running through his hair and he was breathing hard. Felwinter brought up his arm and squeezed the Nord's shoulder. Brynjolf turned to look at him, his eyes bloodshot and his mouth tight. "Where is Frey now, Felwinter?" He asked quietly.

"That's what we're trying to find out," he said, "When we found Karliah, she shot me with an arrow. The head had a paralytic poison."

"What?" He turned towards her but Felwinter pulled him back.

"That poison saved my life," he continued, watching the anger leave his eyes, "Mercer cornered me while I was on the ground and stabbed me in the neck. See?" He showed Brynjolf the scar. The man hissed at the sight. "The poison kept me from bleeding out. Long enough for Karliah to patch me up. He did the same to Gallus and pinned it on Karliah long ago."

Brynjolf chuckled bitterly. "You were right not to trust him. Barely spoken ten words to the bastard and you already knew him better than me."

"Not that well. We still don't know where he went or how to do much as find him."

"If you're gonna find him," Brynjolf said as he started to lead him out of the vault, "You'll want to start at his home. A gift from the Black-Briars. He rarely spent time there in recent years but it's your best bet. A Nord named Vald holds the key."

"I'll head there now." Felwinter started for the exit, leaving Brynjolf to tell Karliah, Delvin and Vex their plan.

"Lad?" The hint of concern in Brynjolf's voice stopped him in his tracks. "Be careful. I feel bad enough leaving you alone with him."

Felwinter held his gaze for a few seconds before nodding slowly. Then he smiled to ease the man's obvious guilty conscience. "I'll bring you back a souvenir."

Despite his effort to hold it back, Brynjolf let out a snorting laugh and waved him off.

* * *

 

"Oh this….this is funny!" Felwinter was practically howling with laughter at the sight before him.

Knocking Vald unconscious and stealing his key had been child's play. He didn't bother with sneaking around the man's house, occupied with mercenaries. As a matter of fact, he announced himself, telling them who he was, what he was looking for, that Mercer had ran and that they had ten seconds to vacate the premises or else.

Most ran, like the smart, sensible people they were. Felwinter didn't want to kill them, he was saving it for Mercer. Like someone refusing to eat before a massive feast; he wanted to enjoy to the fullest what he was going to do to Frey.

Others were not as smart, unfortunately. Now Felwinter was in a room full of corpses, dead by evisceration, immolation, electrocution or simple blunt force trauma and with his dripping sword gripped tightly, he was laughing. Because there was one person left in the mansion, standing or better yet, quivering before him.

"Fultheim the Fearless!" The Dragonborn crowed, "Dibella's sacred tits, it has been a while, hasn't it?!" The Nord didn't respond. Fultheim was on the ground, too terrified to even stand, sword pointed at Felwinter.

"You're a monster!" the merc screamed, "Stay back! Fucking stay back!"

Fel's smile dropped. "I saved your life from Astrid and I gave you the chance to run, Fultheim. I  _warned you_." Felwinter's voice took on a dangerous tone. "You should have run." He started to walk closer, blade held tight. Fultheim's eyes widened in abject terror and he stabbed forward. An easily evaded attack, Felwinter ducked to the side and Shouted the man's blade from his hand. Fultheim lashed out, wildly swinging a fist at Felwinter's head. Felwinter ducked under and viciously kneed him in the stomach, knocking the wind from him with a breathy heave.

Still backed against the wall, Felwinter then struck him hard across the face once, twice, a third and a fourth time, breaking through the man's fumbling attempts to block him and sending a dark spray of blood across Mercer's nice wooden floors. Fel then grabbed the poor man's head and pressed it against the wall with his left hand. Fultheim's bulging, terror-stricken could be seen through the gap in Felwinter's fingers and his blood ran down Felwinter's palm.

Felwinter watched him struggle helplessly in his grip, pushing his head harder and harder against the wooden planks. Then he grinned widely, drawing his right hand back and calling his gauntlet to his wrist, wickedly sharp claws and all. Fultheim stared for a solid second before Felwinter watched his shoulders go limp in resignation, as if he was accepting his fate and futility of fighting. Finally receiving the reaction he had been hoping for, he let Fultheim slide to the ground. Then he squat down before the man, letting him catch his breath.

"Up north," Felwinter started softly, pulling a bag of gold pilfered from one of the dead mercs from his belt, "Is the College of Winterhold. Use this to pay the carriage to take you there, talk to the Master Wizard Tolfdir and enroll." He willed the gauntlet away and cast a healing spell over the Nord, watching as his pale features slowly relaxed as the pain melted away, "If you still feel fighting is for you, they'll make you a much better force on the field. If not," he shrugged, "At least you can spend your life studying."

Fultheim stared wide eyed as Felwinter dropped the bag of coins between his legs. "Y-you're letting me go?"

"Yes. Again," Felwinter answered, stopping to observe a certain cabinet. "Because I know you. Maybe if I knew them, they'd still be alive too." He jerked his head at the dead mercs.

Turning back to the cabinet, Felwinter opened it and pushed on the false back, letting it slide open and reveal a staircase leading underground. He heard Fultheim shuffle to his feet and felt the man's eyes on his back for a few seconds. Then he listened as Fultheim limped out of the room and only stepped into the tunnel when the heard the front door creak open and slowly close.

Felwinter made his way underground, avoiding every trap Mercer had set up for intruders like him until finally reaching the man's private office. He pocketed everything he could, including a roll of paper detailing Mercer's plans. Next to the wooden desk was a case holding a glass sword. Through the covering, Felwinter could see the blade's name on the hilt.

"'Chillrend'. This is a nice looking sword." he broke the glass covering, "Now it's  _my_ nice looking sword." He grabbed the hilt with his right hand, letting the Daedric markings on his arm was over the blade. After a few seconds, he let go of the weapon, held his hand up and called it to his person. A flash of magic and the blade disappeared from the case and reappeared in his fist.

All in all, he was done here. He had made plans to burn it down before but in his walking around, he had thought better of it. He'd return to the Guild, hand over the key and let them clear out the place entirely of anything they found even remotely of value. Take back at least some of what had been taken from them.

Then he'd burn this place to the ground. And he'd make sure Jarl Maven knew that it was him.

* * *

 

"Hey, is anybody else's Nightingale armor riding up on them? ...No? Just me? Okay."

"Looks good on you, lad."

"Hey, same to you. Eyes up here, old man."

"Nah, I'm good down here."

Both men snickered childishly and Karliah, not for the first time in as many minutes, wondered if this was a good idea.

* * *

 

Felwinter shoved his blade through the Falmer's neck with a yell, splattering himself with its dark blood. Just as he ripped it out and kicked its corpse away, an arrow shaft lodged itself in his shoulder, knocking him backwards. Karliah dashed forward, skewering the feral elf before it could move in on him.

Felwinter snapped off the shaft of the arrow, the barbed head still lodged under his skin. "Everybody down!" he roared, "Now!"

Karliah threw herself behind cover. Brynjolf knocked away the Falmer he had been grappling with and did the same.

" _YOL TOOR SHUL!"_ Amber flame blasted forth from Felwinter's mouth, filling and scorching the stone halls of Irkngthand. The screaming wave of fire died done soon after Felwinter had unleashed it, the bodies of the remaining Falmer already charred beyond recognition. Breathing hard, Felwinter cast a hasty, ill formulated healing spell on himself and the others, more to numb the pain than anything else.

Mercer was here. He was close. From the platform below, he had seen them and all but dared them to come after him.

With every step closer, Felwinter could feel it rising in him; the anger, the pain, the terror Mercer had inflicted on him days ago. After finally discovering his location and his plans, they made haste for his location, stopping only a few times to rest. Felwinter couldn't bring himself to. Every time he closed his eyes, the sleep he had denied himself for the past several days would attempt to take him. Then the memory of Mercer, standing over his body as he struggled helplessly to break free of the Karliah's poison would intrude on his mind and the spell would be broken. Sometimes it was Mercer, sometimes it was Madanach or Helgen's headsman.

There were even times when he was a child again, thrown into a city prison in High Rock, full of the city's worst. Murderers, rapists, sadists and then him, a terrified, sobbing five year old accused and found guilty on the spot of the horrific, unspeakable crime of breaking some nobleman's window while playing ball. Probably to rob the man's home and defile his daughters like all filthy Redguards do.

The other Breton children he had been playing with, the ones who had actually thrown the ball were decidedly a non-factor.

His mother fought tooth and nail for his release, railing against bigotry dressed up as bureaucracy and failing until she finally became desperate enough to call on her own father for help. His grandfather; a man who hated everything in the world and hated the five year old Felwinter more than most.

_That_  is what Helgen and Alduin brought back. That is what Mercer had brought back. The sheer, abject terror of his impending death and his inability to do a damn thing about it.

Now he had found Mercer and the Breton was going to pay in full and with interest for everything Felwinter had suffered since his near death. Skeleton Key and unlocked potential be damned.

So the second Karliah and Brynjolf were back on their feet, without a word or much ceremony, he turned and pushed the door open to the sanctuary.

The Falmer statue described in Mercer's plans was massive, its head nearly brushing the ceiling. A stairway made up the path to its shoulders and its head. And there Mercer Frey stood, attempting to dig out the Eye of the Falmer with a knife.

Karliah had wanted to be stealthy, to take him by surprise as was the Nightingales' way.

Felwinter didn't give a damn about the Nightingale way. He wanted Frey to see him coming. And the Breton did because as soon as Brynjolf had closed the door behind them, sealing them inside, Mercer spoke. "You know, when Brynjolf first brought you before me, I could feel a sudden shift in the wind," he said, finally popping out the glittering eye, "I knew that one way or another, it would end with one of us on the end of the other's blade."

Felwinter didn't deign to respond, his pupils growing smaller and smaller with each passing second. Brynjolf, however, did. "Give us the Key and the Eye, Frey and then surrender," he demanded, "Make this easy on yourself."

"So you went and made them Nightingales, did you Karliah? Trying to keep that old, decrepit and useless cult of yours alive?" Mercer let out a powerful magical pulse, rattling the sanctuary and shaking stones loose from the ceiling. Below their feet, the pool of water slowly began to rise. He was going to bring the entire ruin down on their heads.

"That's right Mercer," she snarled, dagger held tightly in hand, "For the express reason of tracking you down."

Still Felwinter remained silent, eyes following the Breton's every move.

Frey gave her a sadistic smile. "Good. That's good." he murmured, rubbing his chin. Then he ripped his sword from its sheath and his smile widened. "I was worried my blade would never get to taste Nightingale blood. But now? Now it will-" Mercer ducked and rolled, narrowly avoiding what would have been a devastating blow. Instead, the Falmer head took the full of it, it's bronze cheek dented inward.

"You talk too much," Felwinter muttered heatedly, removing himself from the Falmer statue's face. In a blink of an eye, he had covered himself in dragonbone, crossed the slowly rising lake and had thrown himself at Mercer. He fulfilled his promise to Karliah, he had helped her find Mercer Frey. Now Mercer was going to be his and his alone.

The look on Mercer's face told him he that he felt the same. He sheathed his sword, stuck one of his fingers in his mouth and pulled the leather gloves off his hand with his teeth. Then he bit his finger, drew blood and clapped his palms together.

Felwinter threw up a hasty barrier, preparing himself to take the full brunt of the incoming blast. It never came. The blood between his hands gave off a crimson glow just before he separated his hands and slammed his palms to the ground.

Five Daedric portals burst open and five Dremora Lords stepped through them into their world. Three immediately jumped off the ledge and waded through the water towards Brynjolf and Karliah, trapped against an unopening door. The other two drew their enormous, serrated blades and faced down Felwinter. Mercer retreated back with that nerve rending smile of his. "Make your choice, Felwinter. You can't kill me and save them at the same time."

Felwinter dashed forward, ducking under one of the swinging swords and rolling to a stop behind both Daedra. Then he Shouted, letting out a thunderous wave of force angled mostly in the direction of the Dremora closest to the ledge. The Dremora went flying into the water and the other staggered backwards in an attempt to keep balanced. Felwinter charged forward again before it could, wrapping his arms around the Daedra's neck to hold it down and placing a palm against its horned head.

He was not gentle with the spell he cast. The Dremora screamed and thrashed in his grip as he forced his magic into its mind, only letting him drop to the ground when the spell was complete. The Dremora got up almost immediately and retrieved his greatsword. Then without sparing his former master a single look, he jumped off the ledge and landed on his partner, stabbing the other Daedra through the head. Then with a resounding war cry, he charged the other three, evening out Karliah and Brynjolf's odds against them.

And more importantly, leaving Mercer alone with him. The man scowled and for the first time in days, the Dragonborn smiled.

Mercer drew his blade again and charged. Calling Zazikel to his hand, he parried Frey's attack, staggering the man. Felwinter punched him hard in the chest, sending him reeling backwards until he hit the stone wall hard. Mercer brought his blade up to deflect Felwinter's incoming attack, brought it up again to deflect his return, then he dodged to the side, letting Felwinter's clawed hand drag against the rock, leaving deep grooves where his head had been mere half seconds ago.

Felwinter pressed on, unrelenting and immoveable. Blocking, dodging and deflecting, it was all Mercer could do to stay on his feet. A massive chunk of the ceiling suddenly dropped from above their heads. Mercer shoved himself away from Felwinter, both men flying back in order to avoid being crushed. The rock landed on the walkway, breaking it into two pieces and dropping it into the rising water levels. Felwinter slid down the remaining walkway, grabbing onto the ledge to keep from falling the rest of the way before climbing his way up.

The second he got to the top, Mercer appeared from the cloud of dust created in the boulder's impact. Felwinter braced himself just before Mercer tackled him, knocking them both off of the walkway onto a water filled ledge below. Mercer pinned him and raised a fist above his head before suddenly throwing himself to the side, narrowly avoiding the burst of fire Felwinter Shouted into the air. Both men jumped to their feet and faced the other down, water around their ankles and still slowly rising. Felwinter could still hear Brynjolf, Karliah and the Dremora fighting.

"Are you even trying, Dragonborn?" Mercer yelled over the sound of rushing water. He raised his arms open in a taunt, "And here I thought you were supposed to be some kind of powerhouse! A devil dressed as a man!"

"You aren't worth the effort," was all he responded. He held his clawed armored hand out and called Zazikel back to him.

"Am I not?" Mercer cast another spell, a blue Daedric blade manifesting in his right hand. "I still remember Snow Veil, Felwinter. The terror in your eyes!" The Breton crowed with laughter, "The great Dragonborn! Afraid to die!" He howled over the rushing water.

Felwinter charged at him, bringing his blade down over his head. Mercer deflected it, elbowing him in the face and releasing another powerful magical pulse. Felwinter pushed against it, forcing himself to stand his ground. He grabbed Mercer Frey by the throat and pushed them backwards until they were both locked against the wall.

Gasping for air, Mercer grinned wickedly. "Weak. Useless. Burdensome! Look at you," he croaked, "It took saving the world for you to get even a modicum of respect, to be worth anyone's time or effort." He grabbed hold of Felwinter's wrists and tried to pry him off. "With the Key, I can see everything you are. You are a child. Crying out for someone to do more than put up with you."

"Shut up." Felwinter pushed down on his throat harder, struggling against the man's considerable strength.

"Go ahead and kill me, boy," Mercer whispered through a bloodstained smile. "Then go rescue the world from those bloodsucking parasites. Save for the one you probably keep chained in your bed, huh?"

Felwinter headbutted him. Mercer's nose shattered with a sickening crunch. "Who knows?" Mercer gasped, snorting out blood. "Maybe your father will finally see something worth anything in you. But we both know he won't, don't we? You're just one of his two biggest mistakes. Not being able to protect his family and letting a piece of shit like you so much as be brought into this world. You're not Isran's son. You're Isran's  _regret_."

Felwinter struck him across the face with his claws, opening wide several cuts across the side of his head. Mercer roared in pain and moved to retaliate but Felwinter grabbed the incoming fist, wrapped his arm around the Breton's and forced Mercer's forearm downward until he heard a wet snap.

He could hear Karliah and Brynjolf calling him. All remaining Dremora were dead and the two had moved for higher ground. Felwinter ignored them and punched Mercer, the force of the hit sending the Breton's head snapping back and slamming against the rock wall with a ringing crack. He grabbed Mercer by the hair and flung him to the ground before planting his full weight on the man's back.

"Is this your full potential, Mercer? To talk shit?" Felwinter snarled through gritted teeth, holding the man's head down as he tried to buck him off. He leaned in, "Because your fighting leaves a lot to be desired. Just think about it, even at your absolute best, you still can't beat me. You can barely so much as hurt me! You have to try and talk me out of fighting you and to make your death quick."

Mercer elbowed him in the face. Felwinter picked his head up and slammed down on the wet stone. Mercer groaned, dazed from the impact. Then he smiled.

That same smile….

With a roar, Felwinter punched the side of his skull. Then again. Again. Again, punctuating each strike with a yell. He kept hitting even as he felt the man's skull start to fracture under his hand, even as Frey's blood sprayed upwards into his face and started to blind him. Mercer had stopped making noise, had stopped struggling. Felwinter opened his hands and kept attacking, letting the claws of his gauntlets dig into flesh and rend bone.

Non stop, for five minutes, it was just the sound of rushing water, Felwinter's feral roars and the sickening thud of each and every blow he landed on Mercer Frey's head. Felwinter stuck his hands into each and every one of the man's pockets and packs. He retrieved the Eye of the Falmer, the Skeleton Key and most importantly, his wedding ring; still dangling from its chain just as it was when it was taken.

Felwinter grabbed Frey by his throat again and stood with him. The Breton's face was bloodied and battered completely beyond recognition, his sticky blood dripping from Felwinter's knuckles and fingers. Without a word or consideration, Felwinter tossed his limp body into the rising water near the door. When he landed, sank and surfaced again, Felwinter could see that he was still just barely breathing, his eyes struggling to open.

"Get out of the water! Now!" He barked to the others, who, taken aback by the scene, obeyed without question. Felwinter's right gauntlet disappeared, revealing his own bruised and bloody knuckles. He took the finger of the left, scratched a long bloody line down the palm of his hand and pressed them together. He could feel the spell he was weaving pull on his magicka as well as his life force and he let it take as much energy from him as it needed, until his body was crackling with lightning and his eyes glowed violet with it. With a final roar, Felwinter stuck his hands into the water and discharged the power.

Mercer Frey  _screamed_. His body seized and convulsed so violently that he was kicking water into the air. Felwinter pushed more,  _more_ , made him feel everything he had that day, all of those days! Frey's thrashing become more and more violent and his screaming climbed higher and higher until a loud pop echoed across the sanctuary. Clouds of red mists shot out of both of his now empty eye sockets. Steaming blood leaked down his nose, the corners of his mouth, out of his ears. Felwinter watched as Mercer Frey slowly sank beneath the surface, bubbles and red marking where he had been until they no longer did.

Felwinter's eyes remained on the spot until he felt Brynjolf try to move him. Still entranced, he did as he was told, letting them lead him to their escape.

* * *

Brynjolf set a mug of ale down in front of Felwinter, making the man jump out of his daze. Brynjolf drew back, keeping a slight distance away until he was sure Felwinter was calm.

They were back in the Cistern. Karliah had taken the Skeleton Key back to the Sepulcher, with a request for Felwinter to meet her there in a few weeks time. What for, neither men could begin to guess. She had seemed different. Twenty five years in exile and hiding, ended just like that. She could walk around without fear of ambush in public. She was welcomed back into the Guild with open arms.

The Guild reacted well to the news of Mercer's death. Toasts were made to Felwinter's health and their former Guildmaster's lack of it. Felwinter had barely spoken on the trip back or since they had gotten to Riften. So when he spoke, it was rough and scratchy, "Maven was involved, you know," he said, his eyes remaining on their table.

"Hmm, I guessed. Not much we can do about it, lad."

"Not much?" Felwinter turned towards him, "They both nearly ruined this Guild."

"We're still in her pocket though," Brynjolf reminded him, "She rescinds her support, we collapse. It's that simple. And to remind us of it…" Brynjolf took a deep drink and sighed, "She's...decided to select you as Guildmaster."

Felwinter's eyes widened and he turned even more in Brynjolf's direction. " _Why?"_  he rasped.

"Look, lad, I tried to talk her out of it. I even offered myself-"

"Answer me, Brynjolf!" His tone caught the attention of a few nearby.

Brynjolf's eyes avoided his, glued to the table. "She wants you here, she had said. With you as acting master, it'll be easier to keep you under her thumb for longer than your original deal specified."

The Dragonborn let out a peal of laughter. Of course.  _Of course_. He should've known he would never truly get out of this. In some ways, he always did.

"Fine," Felwinter muttered, rising sharply from his seat, his drink untouched, "I won't be here as often, so you, Vex and Delvin will be running administrative duties."

"Of course, lad."

"And this… _thing_  with Maven?" He added, "It's not going to last. You hear me?" There was conviction in his words. There was anger too but it was weak. Brynjolf remembered that he hadn't slept in nearly a week and now sheer anger and force of will driving him was all but gone. Felwinter shoved his seat in and walked around the table. Brynjolf heard him stop behind him and a hand squeezed his shoulder. "Thank you, Brynjolf," he said quietly, "For everything."

"Aye, same to you, lad," he said truthfully, "And despite how this whole thing started, we're all glad to have you here."

Felwinter chuckled again. This one was genuine. "Despite how this whole thing started," he repeated, with a tired but warm smile, "I'm glad to be here."

* * *

Moth bolted to his feet upon hearing the portal shimmer to life then slowed, remembering his sleeping children downstairs. He opened the door to his bedroom and moved towards the stairs.

Felwinter was here. He closed the portal and turned to find Moth reaching the bottom of the stairs.

It was Moth who crossed the distance first, taking Fel tightly into his arms. The warmth, the strength of the embrace, Felwinter could've collapsed right there. He lifted his arms and wrapped them around Moth's neck and letting the Mer take his full weight, his vision blurring with tears.

He had almost lost this. Mercer had nearly deprived him of this.

"Mercer?" Moth murmured, his tusks brushing the side of Felwinter's neck.

"Dead," he whispered back, "And it wasn't quick."

Moth pulled him down into a long, rough kiss, breaking away only when his lungs were begging for air. "I have water for a bath, if you want it, Felwinter."

"Yeah. I'd like that." Moth took hold of his hand and Felwinter let him lead him to the stairs before stopping. "Head up, Moth. I…I want to see the kids first."

Moth kissed him again before letting him go. Felwinter slowly made his way to the door under the steps. He pushed on it slowly, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness of the room.

His daughter. His son. He watched them with an immeasurable amount of reverence and love. Every day, it felt like a novelty to call them that, a privilege he wondered if he would ever feel deserving of. Before meeting Lucia in Riverwood, escorting her safely to Whiterun and hearing the story of her mother, aunt and uncle, he had never even so much as entertained the thought of being a father. He had no good examples in his life; his grandfather disowned his mother because of him and left them in squalor. His own father couldn't even be bothered to make an appearance.

He leaned over Lucia and pulled the covers up to her shoulders, watching her sleepily burrow deeper into them. Every day, he wondered if he was doing this right. They were already picking up some of his less than good habits, his smart mouth, his flippant attitude.

But they were happy, at least. And Moth was here. Felwinter could provide, he could protect and overall, be less of a burden on their minds than he was on others.

He turned at the sound of Samuel stirring. The boy's eyes fluttered open and took him in. He started to rise but Felwinter's strong and gentle hands held him down, hoping to keep him in bed. "Pa?" He asked, as if he wasn't sure if he was real.

"I'm here." Felwinter knelt before his bed, his thumb rubbing over the boy's tan skin.

"Is the trouble over?" He expected they would overhear. One day, he would have to explain everything that had happened.

Felwinter leaned down and pressed his forehead to the side of Samuel's head. "Yes. The trouble's over. And it's not coming back."

The boy nodded and yawned. Then he seemed to consider something else. "Pa. Who's Isran?"

Felwinter was taken aback by the question, though he refused to let it show. Instead he pushed the question away, "When you're older, okay?"

Samuel nodded. "Go back to sleep." Felwinter pressed his lips to the side of his head. Samuel giggled softly at the feel of his beard. "I'll be here when you wake up."

Felwinter stepped away and watched as the boy's eyes fluttered close again and only left when his breathing deepened. He closed the door softly and made his way back to the stairs. He climbed them and slowly made for his bedroom, calling Chillrend to his hand and leaving it next to Lydia's door.

"I expected you back sooner, so the water might be a bit cold," Moth admitted, pouring the final bucket in the large tub.

Felwinter closed and locked their door, dropping his pack beside the table. He walked over to the tub and submerged both his hands, letting his magic slowly flow until the water was steaming.

Moth sat in a chair at the head of the tub, pants legs and sleeves rolled up to his knees and elbows. Felwinter pulled off his shirt, thick chest, powerful arms and newly forming scars more pronounced in the dim candlelight. Moth watched him, soft warmth rather than any heat in his gaze.

Bare, Felwinter lowered himself into the tub, groaning at the heat of of the water on his overworked muscles. Moth let him get settled before wetting a rag and dragging it over his shoulders, his back, his torso, pausing over the scar on his neck before getting to the rest of him. Felwinter let him, moving only to lift his arms or move his body when asked. With the wind outside and the sound of pouring water, Felwinter could feel himself being lulled to sleep once again.

But this time was different. High Rock did not intrude on his mind. Neither did Helgen or Sovngarde. Mercer did, his broken and bloody face so fresh and seared into his mind, Felwinter almost felt like he was back there, in Irkngthand.

The panic, however, never came. Felwinter felt the last of the tension and fear leave his shoulders and his body with a shuddering breath, disappearing into the air, never to be seen again.

Moth helped him out and let him dry while finding a clean pair of pants for him to sleep in. Felwinter draped the used towel over a chair at the table and put his hands back into the bath water. It evaporated instantly, filling the air with steam before Felwinter pushed it all out of the room. Moth blew out the candles as he quietly got dressed.

Felwinter climbed into the bed after him, laying his head on Moth's bare chest. The Mer's strong heartbeat filled his his ears as he felt his fingers run through his hair. Sleep eventually took him and for the first time in a long time, he rested easily with the knowledge that he would be safe. That they would be safe.

* * *


	23. Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Two

“Oh gods…”

“I am so sorry, Felwinter.”

“I think I’m going to be sick…”

“Felwint-” Serana was cut off by violent heaving, loud enough to make her jump. Felwinter bent over the side of the massive floating stairway and released the entirety of his morning meal over the edge. She had warned him not to eat so much. Certainly not three plates of food right before they traveled.

Being partially soul trapped didn’t do him any favors either.

But the main reason was this place. To call the Soul Cairn unpleasant was a laughable understatement. Within the very air rolled waves of nauseating dread so pervasive and infiltrating that seconds on the other side of the portal had already began to break the composure she had worked so hard to build up before coming in.

In the distance, through dense fog, great black towers and castles rose towards the dusky, purple sky. There was a constant rumble of thunder and the feeling of static in the air. Bolts of lightning would occasionally strike the ground at random. With hope, their defenses would hold up against a possible blast. Or at least, hopefully hers will. Judging by the amount of fighting it had taken to reach this point, Felwinter seemed all but immune to lightning attacks; having once been hit with several Thunderbolt spells from enemy vampires and his biggest complaint being the effect on his meticulously styled hair.

Her attention turned away from the sky and the horizon to below them. Littering the uneven, rocky ground, she could see glowing shapes, humanoid and shambling. Spirits of the trapped. Souls of the damned.

All in all, possible the worst place she’s ever had the misfortune to visit. Why in the name of the gods would her mother ever want to come here? Serana couldn’t help but wonder but deep down, she knew the answer. Her father really was that bad.

Felwinter’s coughing and spitting grabbed her attention again. He roughly unhooked a bottle from his belt, ripped off the top and took a long drink, a drop of amber colored liquid rolling down the side of his mouth. When finished, he shook his head to clear the sting of whatever liquor he had just downed like water and put the bottle away again.

Serana watched him with a hint of concern and mild disbelief, “I really don’t think that’s going to help your stomach, Felwinter.”

“It’s empty. My entire breakfast is down there!” He threw his extended arms out towards the ground, even bending his knees slightly in his usual dramatic fashion. “What else is this place going to do to me? Take my dinner from last night? The latrine beat you to it!” He yelled at the unending purple sky. Then he sighed and adjusted himself, “Alright. I’m good. Let’s find your mother.”

He took to the front, as he always did and she followed him down the floating staircase. The dirt under their feet was soft, Felwinter’s weight caused him to sink slightly. He pulled them up with a frown and shook his legs out to get the sticky mud off them. “Where to, Serana?”

“I’ve never been here before, Felwinter.”

“Well, yes, I know that. But can’t you, I don’t know…” he waved his hands around his head, “Sense her or something? Isn’t that a vampire thing?”

Serana crossed her arms, “No. No, it is not.”

His eyebrows raised. “Ah, well in that case, you’ve given me full permission to get us lost.” He brought up his arm and swept it across the dark, hazy horizon, stopping in a random direction. “We go that way.”

“Felwinter? Felwinter, wait!” she jogged slightly to catch up with him. She huffed in annoyance when she finally did. They were facing the pitch black unknown and this man was just strutting into it as if it were a tavern. Up close, the souls trapped in the Cairn were even more disconcerting. They all acted differently, overcome with their own despair. Some would run around, hopelessly attempting to find a way out. Some were rocking back and forth on the ground, arms wrapped around themselves or their hands on their head, muttering and sobbing to themselves. And other spirits were perfectly calm. Reclining against walls or on ledges, staring off into the distance with dead or dead-er eyes, their hope for escape long withered away.

Everything about how they were acting was so human. But instead of comfort, the observation only saddened her. These were people. Real people! Some of them just normal people trying to live their lives only to end up soul trapped for a plethora of reasons. Insult to injury after a senseless murder. An unwitting victim of some rogue mage’s sick experiments.

It was the calmer spirits that saddened her the most. This wasn’t something one should have to get used to but here they were. She’d never look at black soul gems the same way again.

“You alright?!” Felwinter’s booming voice startled her out of her musings. She looked up from her feet to see he had clambered to the top of short stone pillar.

“I’m fine,” she said curtly. “What are you doing up there?”

“Remember when I said I’d probably get us lost?” He yelled back.

Serana closed her eyes and silently prayed for patience. He hopped off the pillar and dropped right next to her, kicking up a cloud of dust. “So I was looking around and it turns out we may have been going in the opposite direction.” Felwinter pointed in the direction behind them, “There’s a castle over there. Bigger than most others with some kind of strange barrier surrounding-” Felwinter was cut off. A trapped soul, hunched over and moaning, trudged between them. Both their heads slowly turned to follow as the spirit shambled on past, Serana visibly creeped out and Felwinter staring, wide eyed at the soul’s apparent rudeness, “The Nords in Sovngarde had much better manners. Anyway, it’s our best bet.”

She shrugged, “Alright,” she muttered, her tone suddenly quiet and unsure.

He frowned, noticing the change because of course he did. “Sera-” A sudden blur swept past the both of them and collided with Felwinter. He was thrown backwards, landing hard on his back with a loud startled yell. Serana herself stumbled backwards, landing on a dead, leafless tree.

“What in the name of each and every god was that?!” Felwinter bolted upwards to his feet, teetering slightly, “Is that...that’s a horse. That’s a horse! Why is there….how is there…”

Serana groaned, roughly dusting herself off. While he was staring off after the ghostly horse, she quickly rubbed tears of frustration from her eyes and clamped down on a sniff. This place was horrible. Everything was just horrible. She didn’t want to fight her father, she didn’t want to work with the Dawnguard, she didn’t want to see her mother and most of all, she felt terrible about not wanting to see her mother; the one parent who maybe actually cared about her. The same woman who took her to some old crypt, put her to sleep, locked her away and couldn’t even be bothered to explain why except that it was for her own good.

Serana scoffed bitterly at that. Sealing her away, locking her in a gilded prison, forcing the vampirism ritual upon her; everything was “for her own good”. Not once was a thought spared as to what she wanted. Not one thought was spared for her except how she could benefit another. Maybe one day she’d get used to it.

* * *

Serana looked up from her feet to Felwinter in front of her. “Felwinter?” She called, breaking the silent walking.

“Hmm?”

“I never asked but...are you okay? After seeing Isran again.”

The slight twitch in his shoulders was the only indication that her question might have struck a nerve. “I’m fine. Nothing to worry about, Serana.” He said. He turned and gave her a small smile to placate her, as if his eyes didn’t give him away.

They had did as they said they would. They had tracked down and located the Moth Priest and escorted him safely back to the castle. Dexion was brought before the inner circle and given the Elder Scroll to read, only for the priest to tell them that the prophecy continues in a third Elder Scroll, the one her mother had disappeared with. It’s why they were here, to find it and bring it back.

Isran was the same. He was cordial to Dexion and the others. Serana would even go as far as to say that he was kind to the priest when he exhausted himself reading the Scroll. He snapped less often at Florentius, listened actively to Sorine, complimented Agmaer on his improvements and she could swear he gave a small smile in response to something Gunmar had said.

He barely said three words to Felwinter. Felwinter barely spoke at all when he was around, going as far as to leave a room whenever Isran entered it. Everyone seemed to be walking on eggshells around the them, as if the wrong word would set them off like last time.

Serana wasn’t sure she could relate, or even understand what he was feeling. Her father didn’t care for her much, not really. His paternal feelings towards her only went as far as she was useful to him, less so now that it was clear she was working against him. But still, if for the wrong reasons, she was wanted. And he had been a good father to her before he became obsessed with power.

What was worse? Strictly conditional love, difficult to gain and unfairly easy to lose or none at all? Because as much as he denied it to himself or acted otherwise, the lonely child inside the Dragonborn wanted his father to give a damn about him and maybe even one day, like him as well.

This she knew. She saw it in the way his eyes burned holes in the back of Isran’s head. She heard it in his voice when he told her of Kodlak Whitemane, his predecessor as Harbinger. She could hear the admiration and respect in his voice as he spoke. She could hear the love. He loved Kodlak. And in that love was a burning, pervasive grief when he spoke of how he died.

Felwinter had to go to Sovngarde to defeat Alduin before he could free Kodlak’s soul from Hircine’s clutches. When she asked if he thought the Nord’s soul has made it to Shor’s Hall, he said he hoped. He prayed. Then he laughed and said that he never prayed. Not for anything. He was the exception.

“Felwinter?”

“I’m fine, Serana,” he said, more curtly this time.

She shook her head, “Not that. Are we lost?”

“Oh, that? Yeah. Yeah, we’re lost.”

She gaped at him in disbelief before circling around him. “Were you ever going to tell me?!”

“I-well…no,” he admittedly sheepishly, pointedly avoiding her gaze, “I…thought I could find it before you noticed.”

She cursed, quite loudly, in fact. A habit she had picked up from him. Even he was visibly surprised. “I thought you were raised a lady.”

“I thought you were competent!” She shot back.

“I am!”

“Obviously!” Now they were both yelling. Souls were even turning around to stare at the overly loud newcomers.

“It’s not like you’re helping. In case you’ve forgotten, I’ve never been in the gods-damned Soul Ca-” They were interrupted once again. The same blur from before swept past and knocked into Felwinter, throwing him on his front.

He was on his feet again in a second. “Whose horse-woah, woah, woah!!!!” He shoved Serana backwards and broke into a sprint. The horse had turned on its heels and started galloping back towards the pair.

On its tail were Bonemen. Serana hadn’t the faintest idea what they were except that they were always trouble. With twin bolts of lightning, she managed to blast two of them to pieces. The third managed to get in close and before she draw her blade to strike it down, it exploded in a blaze. She shook the tension out of her shoulders and traced the direction of Felwinter’s fireball, only for the trail to lead her to one of the dead trees. A tree in which Felwinter had managed to clamber on top of.

She stared at him and he just stared back, grumbling, “I’m going to kill that horse.” The tree branch he was hanging off of snapped and he dropped to the ground, landing hard on his ass. “Again!!!” He finished with a yell. Despite their budding argument, Serana bit back a laugh.

“Look, Serana, I get it.” Felwinter stood and stretched his back. “You’re nervous about seeing your mother-”

With that, the amusement was gone. She cut him off with a scowl and a sharply raised hand. “If we don’t get to talk about Isran, we don’t get to talk about my mother.”

“We aren’t currently scouring the middle of gods forsaken nowhere for Isran, now are we?” She turned away with a growl. He went on, “All I’m saying is that I need you to reel it in and focus.”

“And why should I, Felwinter?” She was being bratty and she knew it. But the closer they got to confronting her mother, the more her stomach twisted. He was right but she wasn’t about to admit it. “Don’t tell me you need me to save you from more Bonemen?”

“No. Because we’re here.” He pointed behind her and she spun around so fast, she very nearly lost her balance. The castle surrounded by the barrier they had seen in the distance before; she had no idea they had gotten so close. “H-how do you know-”

“Wait for it.”

She did not have to wait long. A very familiar figure walked out from behind one of the pillars into view. “That her right?” Felwinter asked.

“Yeah.” Her voice dropped into a whisper, “That’s her.”

“Serana. Serana, look at me.” She did. His eyes were uncharacteristically soft, devoid of the underlying humor she always found within them. “If I can be in the same room with Isran without permanently ruining another one of his body parts, you can talk to your mother.”

She snorted, choking on the sudden laugh that bubbles in her throat. Undignified, she knows but he brought it out of her. Serana closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. Another and ten a third. She opened her eyes, “Alright. Alright, let’s….really?!” She yelled, seeing he was already halfway to the castle.

“I thought you were right behind me!” It was a lie and it wasn’t even one of his good ones. Serana simply took one last breath and stomped up the hill towards him.

* * *

“Serana….is that you?” The family resemblance must have been rather striking, if the way Felwinter’s head was swiveling back and forth was any indication. Lady Valerica’s eyes narrowed into a vicious scowl, “Serana, what are you doing here?! Where is your father?!”

“He doesn’t know we’re here, mother.” Serana had her arms wrapped like snakes around herself and was stuttering; she knew it and was failing to stop it. “Look, I don’t have time to explain-”

The older woman started to pace. “Harkon’s figured out the prophecy, hasn’t he.” It was more of a statement than a question.

Serana hurriedly shook her head. “No, you’ve got it all wrong! We’re here to stop him-”  
“You’ve brought a stranger here?” Valerica asked, abruptly cutting off her daughter again, “Serana, have you lost your mind?!”

Hurt flashed in the young woman’s eyes, “No, mother, you don’t-”

“You. Step forward. I would speak with you.” She pointed at Felwinter. “So explain to me this, human. How has it come to pass that a vampire hunter is in the company of my daughter?”

Felwinter was visibly taken aback. He looked down at himself. “Was it that obvious?” he asked “Can you smell your people’s blood on me through that little wall of yours?”

Her eyes widened with rage, “So you admit it? And so gleefully!”

“It may be all the vampires that have attacked me and your daughter as we worked to get here,” Felwinter offered, “Or maybe it was the vampires your husband sent after my city and nearly killed my husband. It was a bloody mess by the time I got done with them, I’ll tell you that much.”

“So that’s what this is about? Revenge? It pains me to think a thug like you would position yourself as my daughter’s protector just to get to me.”

“I’ve been protecting your daughter!” Felwinter’s voice shot up and quickly lowered when he saw Serana jump. “From her own people and even mine.”

Valerica raised her chin, staring down at the Dragonborn as nobles always did. The rudeness, the haughtiness, she’d fit right in in High Rock. “Hard to believe your intentions are actually as noble you say, given your trade.”

“Look,” he said, with a raised hand, hoping to end the arguing, “We’re here for the Elder Scroll you have. We already have two of our own. We get the third, we stop Harkon, correct?”

“Do you truly believe I would lock away my own daughter simly for the safety of the Elder Scroll? No! Serana is the key!”

That one sentence grabbed both their attention. Serana looked breathless. “Explain,” Felwinter demanded curtly, one eye on Serana in case she toppled over.

“The first Scroll speaks of Auriel and his bow, correct?”

“It does.”

“The one I have declares that a Daughter of Coldharbour will blind the eye of the Dragon. Both Serana and I fit the prophecy perfectly.” Valerica’s eyes were also on Serana but seemed to lack the same concern. “On Molag Bal’s summoning day, a ritual is performed between his followers” she went on, “Tradition dictates that the women of the group be...offered to Lord Molag Bal. Few survive the ordeal. Those that do become true vampires; Daughters of Coldharbour. Do you understand now?”

“Harkon gets the bow, uses your’s or Serana’s blood to taint it and blot out the sun, I get that. But, um...offered? Offered to Molag Bal? Serana, what does she mean-” He looked to Serana, who immediately turned away, her eyes on the ground and incredibly distant. He opened his mouth to ask again but didn’t. Then he mouthed the word ‘offered’ once again, staring at the ground lost in his own mind while connecting the dots. It was quietly obvious when he did. Felwinter’s gaze returned to Valerica. The shock and disgust on his face was palpable, Serana could feel it rolling off of him in waves. But most of all was the disbelief. Disbelief that anyone would go through with something like Valerica described, much less put their child through it. Disbelief that she could speak about it with a stranger so casually while Serana was here, so uncomfortable, she was practically folding in on herself.

Valerica held his shocked gaze with her own dead, cold one. Then her eyes shifted to behind them. “There’s that horse again.” Both turned once the sound of galloping reached their ears. “Human, I wish to speak to my daughter alone,” the older woman said, “That spirit running behind the horse will help you catch it.”

Felwinter turned back to her. He appeared as if he were about to tell her off until Serana spoke up again for the first time in the last few minutes. “Please, Felwinter. Just...give us some time.”

“So this is what my daughter is doing now?” Valerica started as soon as Felwinter had gotten out of earshot.

“How could you just bring that up, mother?” Serana whispered. Her voice wa shaking, “Like it was nothing?”

Valerica’s eyes widened slightly in anger, “It was not nothing! It was an honor!”

“An honor I never had a choice in!”

“It is who you are now, Serana and it is who you will always be. Just how long do you think being ‘one of the good ones’ will keep you safe, girl?”

“Felwinter would never hurt me.”

“Whatever he did to survive being in here, he is still a vampire hunter at heart. And he admits it. Happily!” Valerica started to pace back and forth. She always did when she was lecturing. “To that hunter, we are abominations that must be put down like animals!”

Serana’s control broke. “That ‘hunter’ has done more for me in months than you have ever done for me!” Her loud, almost shrill voice echoed into the void.

“How dare you?! I gave up everything to protect you from that fanatic you call a father!”

“You locked me away from everything I ever cared about, mother!” Serana berated herself internally when her voice cracked and the tears started to well. But she couldn’t stop it. “I’ve never had friends. I barely even had a family. You may be working against father but to you, I’m just another pawn. Felwinter cares about me. He talks to me, he makes me laugh, he protects me.”

“You are useful to him girl. How do you possibly not see that?” Valerica asked. Her eyes looked behind Serana at Felwinter’s approaching form. “He’s no different than any other zealot. If you help them Serana, sooner or later, you’ll be the only target left. What will you do when that day comes, Serana?”

Felwinter retook his place beside Serana. His eyes were narrowed and his brow furrowed in a deep scowl; seeming no less angry than he had been when he left them. “The horse is taken care of. How do we take down the barrier? We’re not leaving without that Scroll.”

Valerica gave Serana a look, as if Felwinter’s words were proof of her rightness. Then she said, “There are three spires feeding on the souls trapped here.” She pointed behind them, where the spires could be seen easily. “Destroy the Keepers tending them.”

“That all?”

“Yes. That is.”

“Let’s go then.” Serana turned on her heels and stalked off away from the castle. Felwinter stayed behind and watcher her go before following.

“Human,” Valerica called, stopping him. “Keep my daughter safe.”

Felwinter looked the older vampire up and down before giving her a humorless, toothy smile and saying, “Someone has to. I promise not to offer her up to any monsters in the meanwhile.”

“‘Monster’ is relative, dear. I doubt you count the ones you work for.”

“Oh I don’t,” he responded just as smoothly, “But then again, we aren’t currently trying to end all life in Mundus, so there’s that.”

“So you admit you enjoy butchering our kind?”

Felwinter leaned in, voice dropping to low whisper, “The only thing I ‘admit’ is that I’m tired of seeing corpses of blood drained families on the side of the road, putting the spirits of little girls to rest because some over-impulsive idiots lit her home on fire in order to keep her father as their thrall and I admit I certainly didn’t enjoy being covered in my husband’s blood.” He tapped the shimmering barrier with a clawed armored finger, “But you go ahead and keep acting as if you’re the victim in the grand scheme of things. It seems to be working for you.” Felwinter turned on his heels before Valerica could get in another word and started down the path where Serana had stopped, “Have the Elder Scroll ready for us when we return, Valerica,” he called back, “I didn’t think it possible, but I’m even more sick of this place than I was coming in.”

* * *

He had to give credit to Serana. She really took it to heart when he told her not to let her mother ruin her focus. Though if she had, Felwinter doubted that he would be able to blame her.

They had dispatched the first two Keepers but not easily. In hindsight, Felwinter should have asked Valerica about them before insulting her as he did. The Keepers were towering, lumbering undead monsters, equipped with Dragonbone armor and weapons similar to Felwinter’s own. The first had itself equipped with a mace and shield that was used to devastating effect. The second, a bow and arrows that took almost teeth shattering effort to pull out the three he got stuck with.

Now, they were at the third and last and Felwinter was finding that he missed the arrows. The giant spirit swept up its weapon, a battleaxe as tall as Felwinter was and knocked Felwinter down onto his back. The Keeper then brought it up in a massive arc over its head. Felwinter barely managed to roll and avoid a heavy blade that landed where his head had been.

The Keeper hadn’t been alone when they confronted it. Bonemen, mistmen, wrathmen and the like swarmed the grounds when the two made themselves known. It was Serana who fought them off, letting Felwinter focus his efforts on the big one. Serana was angry. It did not show in her face but instead in her fighting. In the way she would bring her blade down much too roughly on their skulls or in the way her lightning blasts would send them flying backwards. It worried him, how much energy she was expending but he would trust that she knew what she was doing.

Felwinter grabbed the bony arm of the Keeper on its way back up, rising with it and using the leverage to gain access to its upper body. With his own sword, he hacked away at its shoulder, hoping to sever the limb and leave it defenseless as he did the last one. Unlike the last one, this attempt only ended with him being grabbed by the skull and thrown across the tower grounds like a child’s ball.

Felwinter hit the ground and didn’t stop rolling until he slammed into a wall. The Keeper chased him down and stood over him, trapping him against the wall with its axe already raised high.

A spear of ice lodged itself into the Keeper’s back, taking its attention off Felwinter. The monster turned away from Felwinter and started towards Serana, its axe still raised above its head. Serana took a step back for each one the creature took towards her, blasting out ice and lightning all the while. The light of each cast spell lit up her face, sharpening her features and causing the murderous in her eyes to appear all the more haunting.

This was what he was worried about, her endangering herself. Felwinter took two of his fingers and drew on the largest bleeding cut he could find on himself. He ran at her, putting his hands together and pushed his magicka into his blood. Serana tripped on her heels as the Keeper beaded down on her and fell. Felwinter Shouted, darting forward and past the Keeper, putting himself between Serana and the dragonbone blade preparing to come down. Then the Dragonborn pulled in the biggest breath he could manage and let it all out.

“FUS RO DAH!!!” The giant undead spirit went soaring, directly up and high into the air. Felwinter took the energy he had built up, aimed his fist into the air and released. The thick bolt of lightning darted upwards and struck the Keeper in a brilliant explosion of electricity. The Keeper went spiraling further into the air and out of the tower. Felwinter cut the spell off, violet strands of electricity still snaking around his body. He walked over to one of the tower’s openings and watched as the remains of the Keeper rained down over the desolate wasteland.

Serana was picking herself up, pointedly turned away from Felwinter. “Serana,” He called. She didn’t answer. “That was reckless,” he scolded, sounding too much like his own mother.

“Winning a fight was reckless?” She sounded like a younger him, almost as if they were playing roles, “Saving your life was reckless?”

“No, making yourself a target is reckless,” he said, “We agreed. I take the brunt of the fighting, you provide the back up. Serana!” He reached out for her arm to make her face him again and quickly stopped when she flinched away, remembering what Valerica had told them. He forced his tone to lighten and his volume to lower, “We are not done here, Serana and we are not done outside. Focus.”

The young woman put on a scowl for him but he could see the tears welling up in her eyes. “Whatever,” she whispered, “Let’s just go.”

* * *

Valerica turned away from her work table upon hearing their footsteps on the castle stone, “So you managed to slay all three Keepers. I’m impressed.”

“The Scroll?” Felwinter demanded curtly. Serana hadn’t spoken to him the entire way back and only looked worse for being here. Felwinter was ready to go.

“Yes. Follow me.” She nodded towards a door that led deeper into the castle, “Be prepared. The guardian of this prison is certain to come and investigate.”

“I thought we just killed the guardians.”

“You killed the creatures maintaining this barrier,” Valerica explained, stopping at the door. She looked at Felwinter expectantly and then nodded at the door. Felwinter blinked in surprise but did as expected and grabbed ahold of the handles. He roughly yanked them open, wondering if he should’ve just blown them down. Valerica stepped past him with Serana close behind, still not looking at him.

Valerica continued, “The guardian’s name is Durnehviir.”

What sounded like bells went off in Felwinter’s mind. “That’s a Dragon name.”

“You have experience with dragons.”

“You could say tha-” Felwinter stopped suddenly in his tracks, staring off over the walls directly ahead on the other side of the open courtyard. His blade appeared in his hand. “Whoever he is, he’s here. Get ready!” he yelled in warning.

Whatever he had sensed did not give them the time. A massive black shadow shot over the wall and high into the air, spiraling downwards until an expanse of wings opened and slowed its descent, landing on the edge of the wall, shaking the ground beneath their feet.

Durnehviir opened his maw and vocalized his challenge, the roar shaking the very stones from the surrounding walls. A ghostly blue bolt of light shot up into the air and split six ways before falling to the ground. Where they landed, bones began to shift, rattle and come together, ending with a group of bonemen descending down upon the three.

Durnehviir himself went after Felwinter, who managed to rip his sword out of the rib cage of a boneman and jump away just to avoid being crushed by the Dragon’s landing. He put his palm forward, calling up a ward to block and run through the incoming Frost Breath, shielding himself and closing the distance between him and Durnehviir.

When the stream of sharp ice and frost ran dry and his ward broke, Felwinter brought his sword upwards in a vicious strike to the side of the head, drawing a bloody gash in the dragon’s hide. Durnehviir hissed and turned to snap at him. He only managed to snap at empty air as Felwinter Whirlwind Sprinted backwards out of harm’s way and then forwards again, getting in a second hit.

Valerica and Serana kept their attention on the bonemen; stronger and more resilient than the others they had faced. Still, they kept their distance from Felwinter and the Dragon as well as keep the bonemen occupied. Durnehviir jumped away after the second hit, sailing through the air in one bound and twisting upon his earth shaking landing to face Felwinter down again. The distance gave Felwinter a better look at the great beast. It had all of the features of a typical Dragon; two massive legs, a large expanse of wings and a jaw full of glimmering teeth each as long as Felwinter’s arm and just as thick. What set him apart from any other Dovah Felwinter had faced was the rotting green hide, dead flecks of skin continuously falling and regrowing.

Felwinter did not know if he could describe it as truly alive. It didn’t resemble the effects Alduin’s resurrection Shouts. It looked more as if someone attempted an enthrallment spell on a slain Dragon’s corpse...and succeeded.

Without warning, Durnehviir turned his attention away from the Dragonborn and on to Valerica. Felwinter broke into a run, yelling insults and challenges both in Common and any Dovahzul he knew in order to take back its attention. A swipe of its tell forced Serana and Valerica apart. Valerica turned and ran as Durnehviir chased her down. The Dragon Shouted again, sending another ball of light into the ground in front of her. Three bonemen burst from the ground, blocking her path, grabbing ahold of and pinning the older woman in place.

Durnehviir rose up on his hind legs, preparing another Shout when a spear of ice shattered against the back of his head. Serana was livid, shrieking angrily as she shot out spell after spell. Durnehviir growled in warning at her, even as lightning strikes blackened his rotting hide, as if she was little more than an annoyance from what he had come to do. Serana barely threw herself to the dusty ground in time avoid a large tail sweeping across, shattering two stone pillars in the process.

Durnehviir was bearing down on her mother, who was running out of space to run. Felwinter was still too far away, his shouting and long ranged attacks doing nothing to recapture Durnehviir’s attention. Getting to her feet, Serana unhooked two different vials from their cases inside her belt and messily downed the contents of both, expanding the pool of her magicka and then refilling that pool up to the brim.

Just as she had seen Felwinter do, Serana took all of her magicka and pushed it out. First, there was a spark. Then there was lightning. Just as Durnehviir leapt into the air to strike down on Valerica, Serana’s spell slammed into him. The Dragon was knocked off his target and onto the ground with a resounding crash and a roar full of pain, confusion and outrage as he thrashed against the dirt.

Serana’s vision swam. She could hear Felwinter and her mother screaming her name, finding herself too weak and dizzied to respond.

Durnehviir scrambled to his feet and bounded after Serana, his eyes blown wide and his pupils shrunken to the point of nearly disappearing. Serana could see that they were still there though. Because they were focused on her. She wanted his attention and now she would have all of it.

The Dovah Shouted, a swirling ball of ice racing from his mouth towards Serana who barely managed to put up a ward; one easily broken through. Durnehviir leapt up and dropped on her, knocking Serana to the ground. He raised one great winged arm high over his head and brought it down.

Serana squeezed her eyes shut, braced and felt herself go soaring through the air. She landed hard but, to her surprise, with no pain. She opened one eye and then gaped with both. Felwinter was above her, with the left half of his face bleeding profusely.

He had taken the hit. He had taken it for her.

“Serana? Serana!” Her name being shouted shook her out of her daze, “Serana, are you hurt?” It was him. Blinded in one eye by blood, grimacing in pain and only seeming to worry about her.

“No. No, I’m fine.” He grabbed her hand and helped her to her feet. Behind him, she could see three Dremora keeping Durnehviir’s attention off of them. When Serana tried to pull her hand away, he held onto it. “Serana,” he said almost in a whisper, “Are you sure?”

Emotion bloomed across her face and despite the chaos, she nearly smiled. “Yes, Fel. I’m not hurt.”

He smiled brightly. “Then let’s slay us a Dragon.” Some of the blood dripped past his lips into his mouth and Felwinter started spitting and gagging. “Vampires drink this? All the time?!”

Serana smiled this time. She tore a piece of her clothing and quickly helped him clean the blood from his left eye. Doing so revealed three deep red claw marks running down the length of his cheek. To his credit, he complained only slightly.

Durnehviir let loose another earth shaking roar, scattering the Dremora. Felwinter charged the Dragon, rolling under its head and striking upward, opening a spraying cut on the underside of his neck. Then he grabbed ahold of one of his horns so that when Durnehviir threw its head back, Felwinter went flying with it.

He let go at the highest point, let himself fall and land on the Dragon’s back. Then before he could be thrown off, Felwinter buried his sword into one of the many wounds on the Dragon’s neck and forced it in to the hilt.

Durnehviir screamed, the blood from Felwinter’s attack coating the ground underneath him. He rose upwards and limply fell forward with a resounding crash. His breathing became more and more labored until it went quiet entirely.

Felwinter closed his eyes and waited for the soul absorption to begin. It never did. Durnehviir’s body faded away in a flash of purple light and fire, leaving nothing beneath Felwinter’s feet. He fell and landed on his ass with a tired groan.

“Serana?” She heard her mother call. She turned to find her mother’s hands grabbing onto her face and pulling her close, inspecting her with closely knit eyebrows, “You weren’t injured, were you?”

“No mother.” Valerica turned her head, “Really, I’m fine.”

Valerica looked into her eyes for a long time before nodding and releasing her. “He took that blow for you.”

Serana looked over at Felwinter, who was poking his sword at the spot Durnehviir had died and disappeared. “I told you he cared about me.”

“Maybe.” Valerica only looked slightly convinced. Serana would take it as a victory. She turned in Felwinter’s direction, who was jogging up to them. “In all my years, I never thought I would witness the death of that Dragon.”

Felwinter blinked. “Him?” he jerked a thumb back at the spot, “Oh, he’s not dead. When I kill a Dragon, I absorb its soul. I didn’t absorb Durnehviir’s at all.”

“His soul is owned by another,” Valerica explained, “He traded it to the rulers of the Cairn, the Ideal Masters, for power.”

“Alduin’s soul is owned by Akatosh and was taken back when I defeated him so that he may return when it is time.” Felwinter kept his eyes on the skyline, waiting for Durnehviir’s presence to brute force its way into his mind again, “Valerica, we need that Scroll and then you need to leave with us.”

“No. I will not,” she declared, “Not until Harkon is dead.”

Serana grabbed her hand, “But mother, the dragon-”

“I would rather take my chances with the Dragon, Serana.” She softened her voice when she saw the concern in Serana’s eyes, “Come. We may not have much time.”

She led them into a back room, tucked away within a corner of the castle. The room was packed with books, potions, alchemical ingredients but was stood out was the long ornate case at the head of the small room. Valerica opened it and stood aside, allowing Felwinter to pick up the Elder Scroll.

He let out a soft breath of air and ran his hand over the shimmering gold casing. He turned back and grinned at Serana, waving it at her.

Valerica closed the case. “You will need to move quickly,” she said, leading them back outside, “If you have any other questions, say them now.”

“I was soul trapped on the way in here,” Felwinter loudly announced while tying the Scroll to his back, “How would I go about reversing that?”

Valerica raised an eyebrow, “You were partially soul trapped. Those who are tend to end up rather weakened and yet you still kept up with Durnehviir. Again, I find myself impressed with your abilities.”

“You’ll get used to it soon. Everyone does.”

“Mm, I’m sure.” She moved pst him and pointed to another tower in the distance, “Part of your soul was offered as payment to the Ideal Masters. You should find it there.”

“We’ll head there now.”

“Might I suggest you also get that wound on your face cleaned soon? It’s not going anywhere for a long time.”

He nodded, tightened the strap wrapped around the Scroll and gestured for Serana to follow.

Valerica’s voice stopped them again. “Serana?”

She and Felwinter shared a look. “Yes, mother?”

“Harkon. He must be stopped, Serana. By any means necessary,” she said, “And….take care of yourself. Please.”

“I will, mother,” Serana promised. “We’ll come back for you, I promise. Fel-” she turned back to him and froze. His shoulders were raised, his eyes were wide and his sword was clutched tightly in hand.

“Durnehviir,” Valerica realized, “We must already be too-”

“DOOOOOOOVAAAAAAAAAAHKIIIIIIIIN!!!!”

The one word seemed to break open the heavens and shake the very earth. Serana could feel it in her chest and throughout the entirety of her body. Felwinter’s mouth fell open slightly and the grip on his blade faltered.

“That was Durnehviir. He...called you?” Valerica’s voice quaked, as if the ground under her was still shaking.

“Dragons call each other by Shouting names,” he explained, eyes scanning the skyline, “It seems he wishes to talk.”

“He could very well be setting up a trap, Felwinter.”

Felwinter was already heading towards the sound of the Shout, “Dragons don’t trap,” he stated, “If he wanted to attack us, he’d be razing this castle down.”

Durnehviir was there at the entrance, perched atop a ruined spire, waiting for them. As big and imposing and alive as he was before Felwinter’s cut open his throat. Felwinter moved his arm to push Serana behind him.

Durnehviir let out a long exhale, “You come when called,” the old Dragon rumbled out.

Felwinter kept his weapon held tight and at the ready, “How do you know who I am?”

“I have not felt such a forceful tug on my soul since I was first enslaved to the Ideal Masters,” he said, “And I have heard tale of Alduin World Eater’s defeat all the way from here. You could not be anyone else.”

Serana spoke up, “Enslaved? Is that why you’re still here?”

Durnehviir shifted his head slightly to get a better look at her. “It is, young vampire.” He spoke as if he was having a conversation with a friendly stranger on the side of the road instead of someone he had come very close to killing. Normal among Dragons but something that still took Felwinter some getting used to. “I am forever trapped in this form. Bound to the Soul Cairn and bound to the in-between of laas and dinok. Between life and death.”

“What do you want, Durnehviir?” Felwinter demanded, weapon still at the ready.

“Drem, Dovahkiin. I am no danger to you or your two companions,” he assured, “It has been a very long time. But I know when I have been bested. I merely wish a favor. For a favor, of course.”

Felwinter and Serana shared a look, then he slowly lowered his sword. “Speak then.”

Durnehviir hummed, a deep echoing sound that seem to fill the Cairn. “There was once a time I called Tamriel home. A time, Dovahkiin, that is now long passed. Unlike Alduin and my brothers, I sought...alternative ways to maintain my superiority over the mortals. Alok-Dilon.”

Felwinter translated that word well enough, “Necromancy. I can see it worked well for you. You look great.”

To the surprise of both of them, Durnehviir laughed heartily. “The Ideal Masters promised me that my power would be unmatched, Dovahkiin. That I could raise legions of the undead. My only role was to serve as Keeper of a prison until the death of its sole occupant, the one who calls herself Valerica.”

“How long did it take you to find out she was immortal?”

“Long enough. I am a part of this wretched plane,” Durnehviir answered with a hint of remorse, “If I was too leave for too long, I would surely perish. But for moments of time, there may be a chance I could feel the winds of Kaizaal once again. For this, Dovahkiin, I give you my name. Shout it within Tamriel and call me whenever I am needed. In return, I will give you access to one of the most powerful Shouts that I have learned in my time here.”

Felwinter rubbed his beard, “I’ll be honest, you should’ve started with that. I’ll do it.”

Serana stepped around and before him, “Do you always trust this quickly?!.”

“Serana…...new Shouts!” She wasn’t nearly as excited by the process as he was.

Durnehviir beat his wings, once, twice. Then he was hovering over the pillar that once served as a ledge. He took off through the Ciarn’s purple sky, his deep roar echoing further and further into the distance.

Felwinter watched until he was reminded that neither he nor Serana were truly done with this place. “So do you really plan to do it?”

“Why not?”

“He just tried to kill us, Felwinter.” She argued, watching as the beating wings became further and further away.

“Us Dragons can’t afford to take that kind of thing personally, Serana.”

“Mmm. And those scars on your face now,” she asked, “Do you take them personally?”

The Dragonborn shrugged, “Depends. Am I still pretty?”

Without warning, a sharp snort escaped Serana’s throat. Her hands clapped over her mouth to stop what followed but to no avail. She squeezed her eyes shut and laughed deeply; to the point of needing the support of a nearby pillar to lean on.

Felwinter did not laugh with her but smiled warmly as she did. “We good, Serana?”

She forced herself, through some effort, to calm down, “We’re good, Felwinter.”

“Great. ARVAK!!!” As soon as he shouted the name into the air, a ring of violet energy circled next to his feet. The ghostly horse that had been giving them so much trouble before burst from the ground, rising up on its hind legs and neighing loudly.

“Sooo, I caught him.” He patted the horse’s bony side affectionately. “He’s a good boy.”

“Yes, I can see that.” Serana brought a hand and carefully rubbed it along Arvak’s snout. The horse seemed to lean into it, snorting quietly. Felwinter quickly climbed up onto its back, a set of ghostly reins manifesting within his hands. He spurred Arvak forward until he and Serana were side by side. Then he held up a hand and pulled her on.

“To the exit then?”

“Your soul first. Then the exit.”

“Right, right. Got a bit ahead of myself, it seems. I just would very much like to leave and never come back here. Ever.”

“We’ll still have to retrieve my mother, Felwinter.”

He groaned loudly before spurring Arvak into a gallop across the plains.

* * *

“Do you ever feel that it gets too quiet without Felwinter here?” Adrienne took the next nail from her teeth and hammered it into the wall of the Drunken Huntsman. The inn took a rather devastating hit during Ulfric’s siege. Many homes did as well. Heimskr would be sleeping in the temple for months. Longer if Felwinter was still feeling rather vindictive over a slight aimed at Moth, long forgotten by both involved.

Moth lifted several thick planks of wood over his shoulder, “No such thing, Adrienne. Especially with a man like him,” he said, waving to Vilkas and Farkas as the brothers walked past with more wood and Moth’s children at their side, both struggling with their own single log. They wanted to help and neither Farkas nor Vilkas could ever say no to a child. Vilkas simply acted as if he still had the ability to be stern while Farkas saw no point in pretending.

Moth set up the next plank along the previous and held it as Adrienne began nailing it into place, “Fair point. I’m just wondering what ridiculous crap he’s going to pull when he finally gets back.” She struck the last nail, “Ten septims says whatever it is, it’s going to cause people to hurt themselves.”

“I’ll take that bet. Either way I win.” Adrienne affixed him with a look, but the Orc just shrugged, “He’s rubbing off on-”

A terrified yell at the front of the gates was joined by a second and then suddenly cut off by a third, more familiar voice. “OH, WILL YOU TWO CALM DOWN?!”

Adrienne accidentally struck a distracted Moth’s finger, leaving him swearing loudly and profusely in both Orcish and Common.

“Someone got hurt. Did you enjoy it, Moth?” The blacksmith teased, “Did you win?”

Moth glowered and shook out the hurt hand. “Have my money by tomorrow, Imperial.” He hopped down from the rise the Drunken Huntsman was situated on and started for the city entrance.

One guard, a rather young man, fell against the door, pushing it open to reveal Felwinter….on top of a….

“Malacath's ball’s, where in the name of the gods did you find that?”

Felwinter turned his head as he was stepping off the ghostly horse. “Oh, this beautiful boy?” He patted the horse’s bony flank, “They were having a sale in the Cairn. Buy one, get one half off.”

Moth tore his eyes from the hypnotic blue fire of the horse’s mane. “Where’s the half off one?”

He brandished a glowing blue horse skull from behind his back, “Right here!” Felwinter lost himself in a fit of obnoxious cackling, so clearly and sickeningly proud of himself.

When Felwinter brought his thumb up to his cheek to wipe away the resulting tears, Moth’s hand darted out and stopped it. “What happened here?” He murmured, fingers ghosting over the red scars.

“Aah.” He shrugged off Moth’s worry, “Serana was in danger.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Not anymore.” He started to walk further into Whiterun, dispelling the undead horse before it could attract a crowd, “I had to lie to Serana about it though. I could barely move this half of my face after the fact.” Felwinter elbowed his husband in the ribs with cheeky smile, “Great story to tell the grandkids, eh?

Moth smiled wide at that. “I find myself curious. Regale me, Drakon.”

“Oh this?” He rubbed his fingers over the scars, “Training mistake with the kids. The mistake being me having the nerve-”

“The nerve,” Moth growled out in equal dramatic fashion.

“The gall!”

“The gall!!!”

“The audacity to think I would stand even a ghost of a chance against the unyielding force of nature that is Samuel and Lucia Drakon!!!” Felwinter closed one eye and pointed a shaking finger at the scars, playing up his role as the crotchety old man, “And this…was a blessing and a reminder. A mark of favor that The Divines, praise be to them, saw fit to allow me my life and a warning of the two no mortal should ever dare cross.”

“Hmm, not bad. Solid story, delivery could be more exaggerated.”

“I’ll have a long white beard that I twist almost constantly and a cane I shake at people. I will also pretend to fall asleep halfway through. Would that help?”

“It’s a start.” Moth and Felwinter stopped at the busy town center, where the reconstruction was at its busiest. “The real story, Felwinter?”

“A Dragon attacked me and Serana in the Soul Cairn,” he said, eyes on the city, “I had to throw myself between her and a blow.”

“Grandkids will ask if it hurt.”

“Terribly.”

“Was it worth the pain?”

“It was for Serana. Of course it was. Besides your grandfather still thought I was pretty enough.” He brought his hand up and ran his fingers through Moth’s beard, only to get it shoved away with an amused grin.

“I’ve got to get back to work and I’m sure you want to sit down but I do have one more question.” Moth said.

“Shoot.”

“You came in through the front,” Moth pointed out, gesturing to the gate in question, “You could’ve just come home from Solitude or Riften through the portal but you didn’t…which means you ran your undead horse all the way over here for the sole purpose of scaring the shit out of everyone.”

He laughed again and Moth shoving him away only made him cackle louder. He started towards the house before stopping and asking, “You going back to repairing?”

“Yeah? Why?”

He held his hand out, “Give me your shirt.”

Moth’s mouth clamped shut, eyebrows raised in surprise. He opened it and then closed again before pinching the sweaty garment by the neck, ripping it off and chucking it at Felwinter’s head with a wet splat. Felwinter grinned and took one long sniff. Then he raised the shirt from over his eyes and looked up and down Moth’s torso. “Soooo what are you doing tonight?”

“Can you two not do this in public? Please!” Farkas walked past with both Samuel and Lucia in tow, another bundle of wood in their arms.

“Hey kids.” Felwinter greetedly, “Fark. Hey Fark. Hey Fark, guess what I sound like?”

Farkas growled in warning.

“Fine. Fine. Wanna guess what you sound like?” Fel pulled Moth’s shirt off his head and tightly twisted it around in his hands. The second Farkas walked past him, Felwinter whipped the sweaty shirt at his backside. The big bear of a Nord let out a high pitched yelp and practically sprang into the air before landing hard on his ass.

“A hit dog hollering!” Felwinter lost it, howling like a man gone mad and nearly falling down onto his own ass. He jumped back when Farkas scrambled to his feet and swung at him and kept laughing as Farkas chased him down the street.

“Why does Pa make so many dog jokes about Farkas?” Lucia asked.

“Pa told me it was an ‘inside joke’.”

“It’s more due to his lack of original content.” Moth turned away from the scene, “Come. Some of us still have work to do.”

* * *

Felwinter pulled on his pants and tied the fastenings. He ran his fingers through still wet hair, trying to get some semblance of its usual style back before giving up. He was allowed to look like a mess in his own home.

The sun was going down and from what he could hear, the streets were becoming less and less busy. The day was over and enough of the town had been rebuilt that everyone had warm place to stay for the night. Even Heimskr. Felwinter was in a good enough mood to even consider leaving the priest alone.

A shame he was such a creature of habit.

He fell face first onto the bed, once again wondering why he ever leaves it. He righted himself, sitting against the headboard and sifted through the letters on the nightstand. “College. College. Silver mines. College. Tullius...who even gave him my address?” Felwinter opened the drawer and tossed the letters in one by one.

The last one was the only message to merit his attention, the handwriting of his full name so striking and unique, it could only really belong to one person. ‘To Lord Felwinter Gregory Drakon.’

He never liked that. Even if by all technicalities, it was his title as a Drakon man of High Rock and his mother only used it to ensure couriers realized the importance of the message, he never enjoyed reading it or hearing it. “Lord Drakon” was worse. “Lord Drakon” was his grandfather. “Lord Drakon” was an insult.

Felwinter sighed and slowly opened the letter. He pulled out two sheets of neatly folded paper. One addressed to him, simply as “Felwinter.” The other addressed to….

Isran. She wanted to talk to Isran.

Why? Why would she want to? He isn’t worth talking to and he has nothing to say worth hearing. He had half a mind to burn his letter. He could already feel the heat gathering in his fingertips, ready to reduce the small paper to ash. But something wouldn’t let him. Respect for his mother maybe. Or curiosity. Felwinter didn’t feel comfortable enough to decide which at the moment.

“You found the letter?” Moth’s gruff voice pulled him from his brooding. A rag over his shoulder, the Orsimer closed and locked the door behind him.

Felwinter simply grunted, tucking the letters back into the envelope and throwing it into the drawer. “She had a letter for him. Expects me to deliver it.”

“Are you?”

“I’m not going to disrespect her by not delivering it.”

“How did you feel?” Moth asked, coming to on Felwinter’s side, “Seeing him again.”

“Pissed, of course, But...nothing really happened. We didn’t speak.” Felwinter sighed, “Can we discuss this later?” Moth’s face was still etched with concern until Felwinter simply, “Please.”

Moth let out a long breath of air. Then nodded. “Put the lights out, love.”

Felwinter’s smile came back. “But then how would you see my beauty marks, Moth?” He said with a flourishing gesture to his own face.

Moth hummed and pushed him onto his back, strong thighs straddling Felwinter’s waist, “Mmm, good point.”

“You’re too much like me, you know that.”

Moth kissed him, “You bring out the best in me.”

“Best or worst?”

“Same thing, if we’re both being honest.”

* * *

 

_You call them scars, he calls them skirt lifters_

 

 


	24. Chapter Twenty-Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're winding down

 

Morthal’s Moorside Inn was warm, packed and loud. Music and conversation flowed freely, drink even more so. Jonna looked happier at the amount of coin flowing than she had been in months. Many still remembered how the Dovahkiin saved the quaint capital from what would have been a devastating dragon attack. An attack he may or may not have accidentally instigated, he refused to be clear. It was a year ago and to this day, his visits were still cause for some after work merriment for many of the town’s guards and laborers, such as today. Felwinter had managed to procure a table for himself and his company in a corner of the inn, relatively quiet though Felwinter more than made up for it.

He was telling, or rather belting out a story. One Argis was well too familiar with. Mostly because he was there. “And so, Argis! This man comes running towards where I landed, calling out for me, ‘Thane! Thane!!!’. Sounding like he was on a verge of a panic attack!” Felwinter choked out before losing himself to another fit of raucous laughter, pausing only to drain his tankard and start waving the serving girl down for the next one.

“I thought you were dead.” The less than amused topic of the conversation mumbled, his head lowered to the wooden table and the tips of his pale ears red with both embarrassment and ale. “I apologize for worrying!” He added, rubbing the tattoo on his cheek and then his nose, “Especially after you messed up my nose like this.”

Jarl Idgrod, having joined them for the evening, finished her own drink just as the serving girl came by with three more, keeping up with Felwinter more than most people could. Jordis had gone off to somewhere, Felwinter hadn’t been paying attention to much of anything lately. Drinking, talking (or yelling rather) and even joining in in the singing, constantly switching between Common and Dovahzul, a language he had never shown fluency in sober. Anything to stave off thoughts of tomorrow.

“Is this a common thing, Felwinter? You maiming your housecarls? For shame. I should tell your mother.” Idgrod clapped a gnarled hand on the Argis’ shoulder, jostling the burly man with her surprising strength, “I can have Falion look at that if you want, my dear.”

But Argis shook his head. “No, no, it is better this way. Yes, I was ashamed and humiliated but now I wear it as a badge of pride.” His gave his speech a false noble and somber tone, as if his injury was less accident and more of a tragic result of his own personal toil and self sacrifice in his Thane’s name, “Who knows, milady? Despite the permanent disfiguration my beloved Thane had dealt me, I may still find love one day.”

“Okay, see, now I know you’re drunk.” Felwinter jabbed a finger in Argis’ direction, teetering himself a little bit. “Because you never ever talk like that unless you’re a half mug away from needing to be carried out.” Felwinter paused to let out a sharp hiccup, “And the only reason you don’t want it fixed is because of all the attention it gets you!” He turned to Idgrod, “Three times, Jarl! Three times has this man used his fucked up nose as a conversation piece and three times has it ended with him taking that person to bed!”

Jarl Idgrod snickered at that, eyes squeezed shut as she made a valiant effort to keep it under wraps. Felwinter went on, ignoring the look of utter disbelief he was receiving. “Or at least, them taking you to bed…”

Argis’ eyes narrowed in a clear warning, “Thane…”

“What? You look back at the Orsimer woman’s biceps and the way she was eyeing your ass and tell me _she_ didn’t take _you_ to bed! Eye to eyes, Argis! Tell me!”

Idgrod threw back her head and howled, slamming a heavy boot on the ground and earning them the attention of nearby patrons. The tips of Argis’ ears turned an even darker shade of red, embarrassment overtaking drink as the cause but there was a trembling quirk to his lips as if he himself wash trying not to laugh.

Could they afford one more night, Felwinter wondered. They could, couldn’t they? He had no real time constraints. He was sure Falion would appreciate further discussion with a College Arch-Mage that he actually liked.

He could also break into the vampire Alva’s basement again, he was certain her body was still where he left her. Meeting the ghost of that poor girl had been jarring and finding out the vampire’s role in it had rid Felwinter of all rationality. He had picked his way into her home during the day after disposing of her entire coven and found her asleep in her coffin. Felwinter had woken her gently, waiting until her eyes had fluttered open, locked onto him and filled with fear before driving Astrid’s dagger into her throat. Then he put the cover back over the coffin and didn’t leave until the strangled, pained sounds of her death had ceased. Hroggar would then awaken suddenly from the enthrallment she had managed to place him under. He left Morthal behind, probably Skyrim all together. But her body remained and he was sure people would soon start asking questions as to where she had gotten off to.

Felwinter sighed and ran his hand through his hair. A good reason as any to stay but also a good reason to come back another time. He would just using it as an excuse to avoid doing something he had already put off for too long.

Argis jostled him suddenly, a drunken mix of both amusement and worry crossing his face. Idgrod was facing away from them, happily talking to Jonna, oblivious to Felwinter’s spacing. Wordlessly, Argis pushed Felwinter’s cup closer to him and held his own out. Felwinter picked up the drink and met him the rest of the way, tapping his mug against the Nord’s before draining it entirely.

Tomorrow then, he decided. Tomorrow. He sighed and stood. He needed another drink.

* * *

Felwinter jolted his way out of his slumber and regretted it almost immediately. He groaned, rubbing his palms deep into his eyes as if he could push the hangover out of his head. The pressure seemed to make it little better. His misjudgment of how far he was from the edge of his bed, however, did not.

“Thane?” Argis called him, his voice rougher and scratchier than usual, “Thane, is that you?”

“Why are you in my bed, Argis?” Came a response from the floor.

“Neither of us could get out of the pub without help. I think we were just dumped here.”

“Ah,” Felwinter remained sprawled on the cold wooden floor, staring at the cobwebs under the bed.

Above him, he heard the bed shift and saw two heavy feet hit the ground. “Why are you on the floor?”

“I live here now.”

“Thane…” Gods, he sounded like a disapproving mother.

“Oh, piss off.” Felwinter lurched to his feet and waited for the room to stop spinning before searching for his things. “Where’s Jordis, Argis?” Felwinter found and pulled on his marriage bond and the crystal pendent, frowning at the thought of anyone taking them off him while he was unaware.

“Uh, saw her…” he winced at the light and waved his arm in a general direction, “Saw her at the inn with some Nord hunter woman who was passing through.”

Felwinter’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, please, _please_ tell me-”

A weary sigh. “Yes, Thane. They did.” Felwinter’s face broke into grin so bare and wide, it had to have hurt. Battle-Maiden was going to hear about it for weeks, just as Argis was still hearing about his own. There was never malice or anything mean-spirited to his teasing. If anything, there was a measure of pride; he was happy for them. But you couldn’t pay him to admit it.

* * *

“Well good morning, Princess Lightweight.” Jarl Ravencrone was already on her throne, full color to her skin and strength in her voice. This wasn’t the first time Felwinter had spent a night of drinking with the old Jarl. Her tolerance could drop bigger, younger men before allowing her to even feel buzzed. “Did her Highness sleep well?” she teased, loudly enough to make Argis groan behind him.

“Well, no dashing knight in shining armor snuck up to my bedroom to tear off my frilly pink nightgown, bend me over and defile me one last time before my future arranged husband had a chance to.” Felwinter got to the bottom of the rickety stairs and stopped before the throne, scowling slightly at the candlelight, “Put a damper on things but I think I’ll manage.”

Jarl Idgrod cackled at that and to his credit, Felwinter winced only slightly at the grating sound. Behind him, Argis moaned again. Felwinter would have to heal his housecarl before they left, otherwise the man would be intolerable for the entirety of the trip. “Next time, dearie. I promise. Are you heading out?”

“Ah yes, Argis and I will head out after we drag Jordis out of someone woman’s bed.” Argis snorted behind him. “But I’ll be back in some time. Some...business. With Falion.” He was lying about Falion. But what did it matter?

* * *

“Thane,” Jordis, breaking the silence that had just been the the breathing of horses and their hooves rising and falling on dirt and stone. “If I may speak candidly…”

The Dragonborn snorted. “Why bother asking? I let you people insult me on a regular basis, you know I don’t care.”

“Right. Why do you want to meet the Blades again?” she asked.

There was a slight hitch in his shoulders, hidden by clothing. “I’m not going to ‘meet the Blades’. I’m going to check in on Erik and Eltrys.

“They gave you an ultimatum and you made your choice.”

“The better one, if you ask me,” Argis added, taking out a waterskin from one of their bags and nearly draining it.

Felwinter’s back straightened, keeping his gaze pointedly forward on the snowy mountains ahead. “Paarthurnax would say otherwise.”

Argis frowned and twisted the skin close. “The Greybeards and Paarthurnax helped you against Alduin. More than anyone ever did.”

“The Blades helped me too, Argis.”

“Only one is asking you to slaughter the other, Thane.” Argis’ words hung like boulders in the air. They were heading out of Hjaalmarch and crossing the border of the Reach. They were getting close. The tenseness in Felwinter’s shoulders told them that much. “What did you mean by ‘Paarthurnax would say otherwise’?” He then asked, “Surely he wouldn’t-”

“You would think, right?” Felwinter’s tone held a hint of confusion and bitterness, “You’d think he would agree with me that he deserves to live. He knows how I came to my decision, because I felt an ‘emotional connection’ to him. ‘Emotional connection’. His words.”

“He still believes he will break?” Jordis asked.

“He said that he doesn’t know and neither do I. He said that the possibility of him reverting to his former self exists as long as he is alive and that I have more faith in him than he does himself.” Felwinter took in a deep, heavy breath, “‘My sentimentality does not make these facts go away,’” he intoned, repeating the old Dovah’s words, “My feelings of friendship or even kinship with him doesn’t automatically make my decision the right one….and he might have a point.”

Jordis blinked at the back of his head, her eyes wide and her eyebrows knitted tightly together with deep concern, “Thane…”

Arvak neighed deeply, the undead beast suddenly stopping, prompted by a silent command from his master. “We’re here,” Felwinter said aloud.

Sky Haven Temple was always beautiful in a rather simplistic way. built directly into the side of a mountain by the Akaviri in their seemingly futile war against their immortal overlords. When he first arrived here with Delphine and Esbern, seeking answers or information in their war against a god, the place had seen better centuries. Now, it had seen worse; the increased number of Blades had seen to the Temple’s reconstruction.

Felwinter dismounted Arvak. “Both of you will wait here for me.” The wording and tone of his voice had both Jordis and Argis tearing their eyes away from the temple and landing on him. He was their Thane and them, his housecarls, yes but rarely did he outright make orders to them, if ever. “I go in alone. I don’t know how they will react to me bringing you here.”

Jordis still had her concern. “Thane, why did you come here? Are…” There were no bounds and yet she still did not want to overstep, “Are you planning to…”

“No,” Felwinter answered quickly and smoothly. He gave the response easily and took the question without offense, meaning he had considered it before; taking Paarthurnax’s very advice and ending the ancient Dovah’s life. “I stand by my decision and nothing about coming here has to do with changing my mind. Among other things, I really just wanted to see Erik and Eltrys again.”

“We’ll be here then,” Argis assured.

“Good luck, Thane.”

* * *

“Rhiada.” At the sound of her name, She turned, Eltrys planting a kiss on her forehead just as she faced him, “How is she?” He whispered, kneeling down and placing his hand under the little bundle in her arms.

Attiri, his daughter, stirred in her sleep at his touch. “She’s fine,” Rhiada assured, smiling softly when the baby yawned, “And you stink.”

The Breton blinked then smiled sheepishly, “Delphine did not go easy today. Or....ever, now that I think about it. You’ve eaten, yes?”

“Yes, Eltrys, I’ve eaten.”

“Are you tired?”

“Aren’t you?”

He shrugged, “Well, yeah but I can watch her for a while if you need a little break.”

Fret, fret, fret. Ever since the girl was born, the man did little else. Rhiada found it both endlessly endearing and a little exhausting. She suppressed a small laugh; her worrying over his worrying. And yet, she could hardly blame him. They had almost lost this back in Markarth. A chance meeting with a random but very special stranger, if her time staring at Alduin’s Wall had taught her anything, was the one thing that kept a thankfully fading recurring nightmare from having been her reality.

Commotion interrupted their peace, echoing in from the front entrance. Both Eltrys and Rhiada as well as several others in the hall got to their feel, Eltrys putting himself between the Rhiada and the entrance. The noise grew louder until they could clearly tell it was a voice; a voice that was cursing.

A large dark skinned man in pitch black and gold armor stumbled into the hall, ignoring the small crowd of warriors he had startled and frantically shaking out one of his smoldering greaves. “How in the name of each and every one of the gods did you people reset all the traps?!”

Eltrys shoulders fell and his sweat streaked face took on a look of utter shock. Rhiada took one hand away from Attiri and touched his arm, making him jump slightly. “Dear, do you know who this is?”

He blinked, “I-yes! Drakon!” He stammered, then blinked again and peered closer, “Felwinter?” The man’s head swiveled at the sound of the names, facial expression instinctively contorting into someone who had been doing something they weren’t supposed to and had just been caught. From the tales she had heard of him, that was rather normal.

One by one, pieces of Felwinter’s armor magically flashed and disappeared, regular clothing taking their places. “Yeah, yeah, it’s me. I know. It's the haircut, isn’t it?” He combed his fingers through the mohawk in an attempt to get the hair to stand up a bit more.

“I…well, yes!” Eltrys stopped before him and hesitated only a moment before pulling the Dragonborn into a tight embrace, the sound of air audibly rushing out of Felwinter’s lungs, accompanied by a laugh.

And to think, she had just wondered if she would ever meet the man so many here, including the leaders, talked about. She had expected rather dashing knight. A hero with brilliant kind eyes and a righteous, pious nature, what with being the human descendant of Lord Akatosh himself but maybe that was a result of her getting too much into Eltrys’ storybooks. If she had admitted it, her husband would never have let her live it down.

Felwinter certainly was imposing, standing head and shoulders over Eltrys and though training had filled the formerly skinny Breton out, Felwinter still managed to be nearly twice as wide. He had a rather brutish look to him but his eyes showed intelligence and cunning mixed in with a bit of coldness. In that respect, she see one bit of likeness similar to how Eltrys had described him.

“Come in, sit with us, please.” Eltrys grabbed Felwinter by the wrist and practically dragged him from the developing crowd to where Rhiada had sat back down. “Felwinter, this is Rhiada. My wife.”

“Wife?” The man’s eyebrows rose slightly, “You waste no time, do you?” The man bowed slightly at Rhiada, “An honor, my lady.” Then he saw the shifting bundle in Rhiada’s arms, “You _really_ waste no time.”

Rhiada huffed out a small laugh, “I was pregnant when we left Markarth. Would you like to hold her?”

She had never seen someone’s look of confidence fall away so quickly. “Um, I-I…” But Eltrys took the child from Rhiada’s hands and placed her in Felwinter’s arms before he could answer.

The big man froze, his eyes all but ready to pop out of their sockets and roll under the table; Rhiada couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. Little pale arms rose up from the confines of the blankets. They heard Attiri coo and yawn and Felwinter melted. Now, now she could see it; the kindness of a man who put his life on the line for them and others like them without a hint of hesitation.

“What’s her name?” He whispered, his eyes never leaving the child.

“Attiri.”

“A Nord name. It’s nice.” He looked up, “You’re Breton too, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Rhiada confirmed, “Did the name give it away?”

“It usually does. I’m from Stormhaven myself. Family name Drakon.”

“I’ve heard of the Drakons,” Eltrys said, “My father, before he moved here, knew one. Lord Lucas Prosper Drakon.”

Felwinter’s face hardened up almost immediately. Then he visibly struggled to relax. Looking at Attiri seemed to help. “Yes. My grandfather.”

Her husband obviously wanted to continue on this thread but Rhiada could see that this wasn’t the best of conversation topics right now. “Felwinter, I’ve heard of what happened in Markarth from Eltrys but only up to when we left.”

A bit of relief fell over him. “Nothing afterwards?”

“We heard of Thonar’s death,” she admitted, “By Forsworn, no less. A sorry state of affairs all around.” That wasn’t entirely truthful. When one of the other Blades returned from the Reach with thr news, her first reaction was to wonder how inappropriate it would be to start singing and dancing in the middle of the Hall. Her second was to consider doing it anyway. Thonar Silver-Blood had been a greedy, lecherous and overall black hearted man with too much power over the fate of others. Now there was one less man like him and the world was better for it.

“I didn’t kill him if that’s what you’re wondering,” Felwinter went on. “But the men who attacked Eltrys in the temple were with an imprisoned Forsworn leader named Madanach. He’d been working with Thonar to keep the Forsworn under control in exchange for a stay from execution but he had been taking advantage of the government’s decision to use Cidhna mine as a prison, radicalizing other Forsworn in an eventual revolt.”

Eltrys rubbed his jaw. “I saw the bodies of my attackers when I woke up and the message you left for me but what happened after?”

Felwinter laughed. “I’ve already told the long version of this story but to keep it short, I was imprisoned in the mine. For the death of the guards and your death.” He placed his finger in the girl’s open palm and smiled when she squeezed. “I worked with Madanach to escape but at the last second, I turned on him and killed all of his people.”

“By yourself? That’s impressive.”

“Ah, the most impressive part is that I only almost got killed twice. But afterwards, Thonar pardoned me for my crimes and cleared my name. He died sometime later.” He locked eyes with Eltrys, “I did come here to check on you but I’m looking for another as well. A Nord named-”

“Felwinter?”

“Ah, never mind.” As gently as he could, Felwinter placed Attiri back into her mother’s arms and stared for a another few seconds before extracting his finger, still held in her grip. Then a hand clapped on his shoulder and he turned to face the beaming Nord. “Erik or do you still go by the Slayer?”

Eltrys loudly groaned enough for everyone in the hall to hear and Rhiada held her hand to her lips, struggling not to laugh out loud. Erik grinned wider and gripped Felwinter’s forearm. “Aye, I do. Ignore him, he’s just jealous.”

“He is a little.”

“Rhiada!” That made her laugh. She got to her feet with Attiri, “We’re going to take a walk while you men catch up. Welcome back, Erik and it was an honor to meet you, Dragonborn.”

Felwinter bowed slightly again, “Likewise, Rhiada.”

An amused look crossed her face. “Hm, a Breton nobleman through and through.”

“Ah, Rhiada, that isn’t very fair,” Eltrys admonished, “He hasn’t oppressed or subjugated anyone yet.”

“There are two housecarls right outside that would disagree.” Felwinter grinned widely and Rhiada laughed. She said her goodbyes once again before taking the stairs to the upper courtyard and disappearing all together.

Erik’s hand landed back on Felwinter’s shoulder and squeezed. “Felwinter, how are you?” He asked, tone full of warmth. A tone one didn’t use with someone they had only had three conversations with but those three conversations put Erik on this path, changed his life for the better.

“Confused for one.” He gestured to the front entrance, “How did you get through there without setting off the traps? Why did you people reactivate the traps?!”

The two Blade recruits shared a look. “We didn’t.” Erik denied.

“ _You_ did. Somehow,” Eltrys said, retrieving three unopened drinks from a nearby table but not before waving away a few of his fellow recruits quietly bothering about how he knew _the_ Dragonborn himself.

“Of course, I did.” He took one of the bottles with a nod, “I can cool those down for you-” Felwinter’s eyes widened as a white frost crawled up the amber colored bottle from Etrys’ hand. He feigned disappointment when he saw Erik doing the same thing. “Well, I no longer feel special. But it’s good Delphine and Esbern are teaching you well.” Felwinter’s eyes roamed all over the great hall, pausing just for an extra second on the group of recruits staring at him, before stopping finally on the Temple’s great mural. His legs slowly started to move in its direction. “Erik, how’s your father?” He asked, though his tone was rather distant, “Have you seen him?”

“Just came back from Rorikstead, actually. He’s doing fine.” Felwinter heard him say before he stopped at the mural. Alduin’s Wall, the great story of the world, all of the fantastic and improbable circumstances that led to two events; the return of the World Eater and his own birth. The sheer absurdness couldn’t possibly be missed. The return of of a god equalized to the birth of a man, a bastard. Or to some, a god in his own right. A Dragonborn of legend and song like the likes of Alessia, Reman and Tiber rather than the other Dragonborns, names unknown, who lived the life of peace, anonymity and quiet heroism Felwinter had been denied.

“They talk about this a lot, you know,” Eltrys said, standing to his right, Erik to his left. “They talk about _you_ a lot.”

Felwinter reached and ran his fingers on the black stone. “Only bad things I hope.”

“The opposite in fact. They sing your praises.”

“Really?” Felwinter slowly walked from one far end of the Wall to the other, his fingers tracing the stone reliefs of the various prophecies. The Numidium, that Dwemer monstrosity. The eruption of Red Mountain. The Skyrim Civil War. His fingers stopped…

Under them was the stone relief of a man, locked in combat with a terrifyingly massive black dragon.

“It must be unsettling,” Erik commented sympathetically, coming up next to him again, “To have your entire life told before you’ve even lived it.”

“Not my entire life. Just up to,” he rapped his knuckles on the Dragon, “Tall, dark and handsome over here. After that, I’m on my own.”

“Was there anything you wanted to do with your life before all this?” Eltrys asked. Felwinter turned at the question.

He didn’t know, if he was being honest. He knew his mother had plans concerning him and the family estate after she had passed on but what did that mean? Sittining around, barking at servants throughout the day and declaring himself better than everyone else based off nothing but his family name? Felwinter could never see it and that was before he came to Skyrim. Now, after all he had seen, it was an impossibility.

“Maybe working at Winterhold’s college or with the Companions,” Felwinter decided to say, just to give them an answer. In truth, it was something he’d rather not think about now. He had been in the Temple for nearly an hour and was still putting off the most important thing he had come to do.

“Drakon.” Felwinter’s jaw clenched before he could force it to remain relaxed. He let out an easy laugh. “Three for three,” he murmured just loud enough for the others to hear.

Delphine and Esbern had changed very little. Understandable; It had only been around two years. It only felt as if it had been forever. “Master Esbern. Grandmaster Delphine.” Felwinter bowed slightly. He would to the Greybeards and no matter his decision, the Blades were just as much his teachers. The thought that both groups would disagree, though believable, was an uncomfortable one.

It was Esbern who stepped forward first, an easy smile and warm gaze to offset Delphine’s razor sharp glare. Felwinter could swear the temperature was falling. “Felwinter, how are you?” Esbern grasped Felwinter’s forearm.

“I’m well. You both seem to be as well.” Felwinter’s eyes locked with Delphine again, who was still just…staring. Few people knew how to make Felwinter nervous and gods above, she was one of them. Part of the reason, probably even the main reason, Felwinter had kept away for so long was that he was afraid. Afraid to face them directly and tell them his decision. Afraid to be outright rejected. Instead his answer was his disappearance; his assists in their recruiting, an effort to assuage his own guilt.

But now, now he had finally forced himself to face them down. As much as he wished to leave, he knew he couldn’t. “Will you not say anything, Delphine?” He asked her.

Her eyebrows raised on slightly in both acknowledgement and his addressing her so directly. But the expression was gone in a second. “These two both say they were sent here on your recommendation.” She said, jutting her chin out at Eltrys and Erik, who could not look more uncomfortable at the moment.

“They were.”

“They’ve been good. You’ve chosen well.”

“I’m just glad you took them in.” He smiled back at the two before returning his attention to the older Blades, “Might we speak alone? About…”

Delphine nodded her head towards the back wall, at an unlit opening stocked with weapons and armor and walked off without a word to follow. Felwinter once more regarded Eltrys and Erik before following, leaving Alduin’s Wall behind him.

* * *

“Eltrys told us of Markarth and we’ve heard rumors of the rest,” Esbern started, pushing a mug of chilled wine into his hands. Delphine took the second with a nod and Esbern sat down next to her, both of them opposite him. “And at the middle of it, you. You’ve kept busy.”

Felwinter’s eyes were on the wooden table next to them, standing against the stone wall and littered with weapons. He picked up one in particular that caught his eye, an Akaviri blade with a slight curvature and radiating with magic. After a few seconds, he put it down again and finally answered, “I have. Mostly getting myself into situations I shouldn’t. I’m Harbinger of the Companions now, Guildmaster of the Thieves’ Guild, a Legate in the Legion.”

It was mention of the Legion that finally made Delphine speak up. “You support the Empire now?” Her tone accusatory.

“I support protecting my family’s home in Whiterun when Stormcloak attacked and I support ending this inane war. Against what the Thalmor want, who would rather stretch it out. I thought you’d appreciate that.”

“And you two are arguing again, just like old times, eh?” Esbern stretched out one of his legs with a weary groan, old injuries still making their lingering presence known. He rubbed a hand over the joint, a slight glow of heat emanating from his palm.

Felwinter’s head ducked slightly, “I...apologize,” he said sincerely, “I didn’t come here to argue. I...came to give you an answer.”

“We got your answer when you never showed up here again, Felwinter.”

“Yes, well. I feel I owe you one in person. If I can face down Alduin, I can face Delphine right?” He chuckled and she allowed herself a small smile. It was a rare and nice thing to see.

But the good things never seemed to last. “I...can’t do it, Delphine, Esbern. I cannot betray the Greybeards. I can’t….I can’t kill Paarthurnax.”

“He is a war criminal, Drakon.” Delphine moved up in her seat, her tone digging into Felwinter like hot knives.

“He turned on Alduin. He helped humanity.”

“I’m sorry, Felwinter,” Esbern said in a way that let him know it was genuine, “That doesn’t explain away or excuse the atrocities he is responsible for.”

“I know-”

“Nor does it stop the crimes he _will_ be responsible for,” Delphine avowed, “How long before he breaks, Felwinter? Will you even be around when he does?” She was sounding much too much like Paarthurnax himself for his comfort. “He is immortal. He does not die and I know for a fact every single day he is tempted.”

“Delphine-” Esbern started.

“Are you willing to put everyone’s lives on the line for one monster?” Felwinter kept his eyes on the ground, feeling Delphine’s gaze burning holes into the back of his neck. When he didn’t answer, she went on, “Blind faith has never suited you. You must be decisive.” She was disappointed. They both were. What else could they be facing him, their greatest disappointment?

Felwinter’s fingers were clasped together, squeezing tightly. She was right, of course. Blind faith has never been him. He never trusted unless the reasons to outweighed the reasons not to. Such as with Karliah; she didn’t trust him and him her but they needed each other.

Paarthurnax had given Felwinter ample reason to trust and believe in him. Twice now, he has put himself on the to save humanity from his brother’s tyranny. He has shown Felwinter nothing but respect for the lives of mortals, so much so that even speaking about his crimes brought up a conflict within Felwinter; who he was now and who he was before could not possibly be the same. It just couldn’t.

And despite Delphine’s fears, despite Paarthurnax’s himself, Felwinter could not see it. He could not look at the dragons that attacked towns and the countryside and imagine him. Maybe one day, it would be. Maybe one day, he would have to put Paarthurnax and even Odahviing down and shoulder the consequences left in their wake, the guilt at knowing he should have listened before.

And if it costed him his family…

No.

No. It won’t.

Felwinter is Dragonborn. Human in body, Dovah in soul and he feels the pull to domination just as any. Paarthurnax has always said the same, remarked upon it nearly every time they spoke. Felwinter never resisted his inner nature as he did. _“Now the wheel has turned to you and despite domination being your base nature, you defy it with an ease I envy,”_ Paarthurnax had said.

“Well, Felwinter?” Delphine pulled him out of his roiling thoughts, “Do you have nothing to say?”

He looked at her, the hard cut of her jaw, the sharpness of her eyes and stood. She was such an imposing, commanding presence that it was always jarring to see that she was shorter than him. “I am being decisive, Delphine. I’ve made my decision. I’ve decided Paarthurnax has atoned for his crimes. I’ve decided that, no matter what you or anyone believes, he will not break. I’ve decided that I will not kill him.” The markings on his right arm flashed and the light enveloped his body, armor replacing his clothing.

Esbern stood with him. “And if he does break, Dragonborn?” he asked.

To his credit, Felwinter hesitated only slightly, “Then on my head be the consequences.”

“This is not a burden I want you to bear, dear boy.”

“That is my decision to make.”

For just a moment, sadness flashed in Delphine’s eyes. But just a moment. “So be it,” she said, her tone hard and cold as the stone around them, “Our terms from before still stand. I will see you out.”

“May I say goodbye to Erik and Eltrys?”

She looked him up and down then wordlessly nodded, standing aside to let him pass. Felwinter trudged back over to Alduin’s Wall, where the two young Blades were badly pretending that they hadn’t tried to listen in. “It’s time for me to head out,” Felwinter said, grasping the forearms of both of them in turn. “I spend most of my time in Whiterun. Find me there, if you ever want to talk.”

Felwinter stole one last glance at Alduin’s Wall before turning and finding himself face to face with Delphine. She spun on her heel and walked towards the exit. Without a word, Felwinter followed.

* * *

Rays of sunlight started to peek in from above. He was nearly outside. He had accepted it, never seeing the Blades again but acceptance did not take away reality’s sting.

At the same time, reality’s sting did not make him change his decision. These things, these decisions hurt and they always will. But the hurt never truly lasted and some people were worth it, such is life. If Felwinter is capable of resisting his “true nature”, Paarthurnax would be too.

“ _Where others dominate through the most violent means, Dovahkiin, you find a way,”_ he had said _, “Loyalty instead of obedience. Maybe it is that kind heart of yours.”_

Felwinter had his loyalty and Paarthurnax Felwinter’s. That wouldn’t change no matter how many times the old lizard questioned it. Why, he would ask and though Felwinter could never articulate an answer before, he realized now he had it all along.

“Why, Paarthurnax?” Felwinter’s soft whispers softly echoed off the dirt walls, “Well, maybe it’s that kind heart of yours. I’m not the first to see it.”

Felwinter sighed and wiped his eye gently with one thumb, scowled at the wetness before shaking it away.

His housecarls were right where he had left them. Jordis shoved Argis awake when she caught sight of him. “C’mon, Markarth then Jordis, you can take the portal to Solitude.” He called Arvak from the Soul Cairn.

Jordis watched him with concern, “You got what you needed, Thane?”

He climbed up and sat himself down on Arvak, the ghostly horse kicking the dirt with one foot in acknowledgement. Felwinter turned Arvak to face towards the entrance, towards all of Sky Haven Temple. He could see small figures in the upper courtyard, drilling, sparring. Above them, a lone person with a tiny bundle of blankets in her arms.

“Yeah,” he finally answered. “We’re done here.”

Then without warning, Felwinter stuck out his arm and willed the markings etched into it to life. The violet Akaviri blade appeared in his hand. He drew the enchanted sword, twirled it around in his hand and grinned wide at the crackle of magic and power it gave off. Then as quick as it came, the sword disappeared. “Let’s head out people!”

Argis’ glared at him in abject disbelief. “Woah, woah, wait just a minute. Did they give…. or did you….”

“Don’t worry about it, Argis.” Felwinter spurred his mount forward.

“But-”

Jordis and her horse quickly fell into step with him, “He said not to worry about it, Argis.”

“But...oh fine! Will you two wait up?”

* * *

“Ay, you kids slow down!” Moth barked as a gaggle of children, including his own stampeded down the streets of Whiterun. Next to him, Felwinter let out a small chuckle but kept his eyes on the enchantments for Moth’s he was preparing, occasionally switching over to the bronze Dwemer shield he had found in Calcelmo’s lab or to an enchantment on his own armor gauntlet. Moth sat next to him in the shade of Warmaiden, filing down wood for arrows. “How far along are you?” He asked, adding a finished stick to the pile before picking up another.

Felwinter fit his gauntlet over his left wrist. When the kids ran by again, he barked out Samuel’s name, tossed a small rock over at his feet and ordered him to throw it at him. The boy’s eyes darted over to Moth before he picked up the stone and lobbed it at Felwinter’s head.

Felwinter brought up the armor clad wrist, a sigil carved into the metallic bone lit up. A circular dark purple shield of light manifested from his arm and stopped the rock before it could knock Felwinter over the head. “Quite nicely actually. But the one for your axe is a bit more complicated.” He waved a captivated Samuel away, knowing that he was going to be drilled for answers later in the day.

“How complicated? What exactly is it supposed to do?”

“Ah, that’s a surpr-”

_“I've been looking for you. Got something I'm supposed to deliver. Your hands only.”_

Felwinter practically flew out of his seat, his eyes wide and his hand to his chest, rising and falling. Moth couldn’t blame him, he had been just as startled.

“Arkay’s balls, how do you people keep finding me?!” He yelled. The courier, completely desensitized to his antics, just held the letter out, leaving only when Felwinter snatched it from his hand. Felwinter sat back down next to Moth, grumbling something about changing their address or him being stalked as he tore open the letter. Moth peeked over his arm, skipping down the letter to the end and found himself confused.

Felwinter was smiling. Moth could’ve sworn he read the names “Esbern” and ”Delphine”, names that never made Felwinter smile and yet. He got Felwinter with his elbow and tapped the letter with the thin stick in his hand, “Explain.”

“Remember that new sword I got?”

“The one you stole.”

“It’s not stolen cause it was meant for me anyway.” Felwinter waved the letter, much too pleased over a convenient technicality. Then the smile gave way to something softer, “They also said that they are here for me. If I need it.”

“Will you be alright?”

“You know, you ask that a lot,” Felwinter said, folding the parchment.

“I apologize for giving a damn.” Moth jostled him again. Felwinter grabbed his arm before it could fall away and planted a loud kiss on his hand. “What’s this, Drakon? Courtship?”

“Pffft.” Felwinter picked up the Dwemer shield and one of his many tiny screwdrivers. But before he could start up again, Moth reached over, hooked a finger under his chin and brought him into a short kiss.

Felwinter pulled away. “Sap.”

“You like it.”

“I really do.”   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed and happy Pride month from your local bisexual human catastrophe and his equally bisexual impulse control and occasional enabler


	25. Chapter Twenty Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This lateness was brought to you by writer’s block and midterms

“Foggy. Gonna be hard to see,” Felwinter murmured to himself, rubbing the scarred claw marks on his face “At least this is a close range fight.”

“Hmm?” Serana shifted on her feet. “Felwinter, were you talking to me?”

“No, no, just surveying the field,” he said, “You’re awfully quiet.”

“I always thought people spent the calm before a battle reflecting. In silence.”

“Not me!” Some jumped at the boom of his voice. The fog, the cold, Castle Volkihar looming over them all, nerves were frayed and the battle hadn’t even begun. One of Gunmar’s trolls lumbered up next to him. Felwinter reached out and started to scratch under the beast’s chin, snatching his hand away only when Gunmar scolded him from where he was, helping to secure their boats. He had complained endlessly and loudly about having to share a boat with the two of them but his Shouts kept them under control while crossing the water and he had apparently made friends.

The beast raised its head, took two deep sniffs of the air and let out a growl from deep within its chest. Serana felt it a second later and judging by the feral golden flash in his normally dark eyes, Felwinter could feel it too; his beast spirit setting on edge.

In the cover of the mist, the last of Harkon’s army were gathering. The Dawnguard, or rather Felwinter alone, had dealt their numbers a heavy blow; back when they attempted to retrieve Serana from their fort and still they managed to well outnumber the Dawnguard. Whether or not they outmatched was a different story all together.

“Aye, form up!” Felwinter barked behind him, any and all humor gone from his voice. Serana kept her eyes on the castle as the sounds of boots sloshing through mud and weapons readying filled the air. They were doing this. They were really doing this.

She was really doing this.

Felwinter raised his right arm and summoned Auriel’s bow along with a full quiver of Sunhallowed arrows to his hand, strapping them to his back. He had continually expressed excitement to use it, given the trouble it took to obtain. “Everyone has their shields? Their partners?” More nervous shuffling and tense murmurs of the affirmative. “Good. Cause these bolts hurt like shit. Speaking of bolts, if any crossbow bolts end up in my ass, I’m putting it back in yours. I’m talking to you, Sorine.” he said, eliciting another round of nervous laughter, “And Florentius. Stop humming.”

“Enough.” One booming command and a profound silence fell over them all. Heavy, booted footsteps came closer and closer and the crowd behind them parted to let the owner through.

Isran stopped at Felwinter’s side, adjusting the straps on his heavy gauntlets. Felwinter’s eyes remained straight ahead. Neither man so much as acknowledged the other. When Isran finished his preparations, he reached behind and unstrapped his own shield and the long, heavy hammer attached to his back. The sound echoed out when the blunt end hit the ground.

Felwinter called his armor to his person, his own dark colored set of heavy Dawnguard armor, enchanted specifically and especially to resist the undead. Dawnbreaker, that Daedric vampire killer, appeared in his hand, twirling it around once, twice.

“Dawnguard.” Isran lifted the hammer head from the ground, “I suffer no prisoners. Kill them all.”

Felwinter turned his gaze to the clouds. Rays of sunlight peeked through as they roiled, dotting the ground. When they had discussed battle tactics, his eyes had lit up when Serana mentioned that her father’s people would be all too happy to use Volkihar’s constant overcast to their advantage, regardless of the time of day.

The element of surprise was a beautiful thing.

_“LOK VAH KOOR._ ” The world quaked at the force of the Thu’um. The sky exploded in a crash of thunder and the dark clouds rushed to obey his orders, ,‘Part and let the sun shine through’. Serana could see the anger and indignation on the faces of the vampires before her and hear the slightly more optimistic murmurs of the hunters behind her. Neither served to comfort her.

Felwinter and Isran began to move, slowly at first, then faster and faster. The Dawnguard behind them and the vampires ahead of them matching every step. They clashed, two groups fusing into one roiling, chaotic, cacophonic mass. Felwinter met them first, a ward raised to take two incoming blasts of lightning as he pushed in closer. Blade thrusted forward, he stabbed straight through the defenses of one vampire and used his free hand to light the other aflame. As they always agreed, Serana let him take the brunt of the fighting, striking when a safe opportunity presented itself and primarily watching his back.

What the vampires lacked in fighting skill, they made up for in both number and magic. Durak ripped a reanimated vampire corpse off of his partner, Agmaer, sending it hurtling into the cold sea and Agmaer had less than a second to regain his bearings before he put his shield up, blocking a spear of ice shot with such force, it caused him to slide backwards. The offending vampire took the opportunity to close in, only to be rewarded with a vicious shield bash and Agmaer’s axe buried in his skull a second later.

More vampires and their reanimated brethren began to gang up and close in. Isran slammed the head of his hammer into the sternum of a particularly large one. Then he ripped it out of the messy, ragged hole it had created, put the weapon handle to his neck and spun himself around, letting his own momentum send his arm and hammer flying out in a wide arc, knocking over or outright killing nearly half of vampires that surrounded him and Sorine. Like Serana, Sorine kept her distance and let Isran take on the majority of assailants, putting bolts between the eyes of targets or just beating them with the crossbow when they got too close.

Slowly but surely, their people pushed on, taking step after step closer and closer to the castle entrance over the bodies of vampires at their feet. But it was all too easy to discount the dead, even when facing an army of necromancers.

Serana saw it before anyone else. The corpse of a largely built vampire Isran had already put down twice was getting to its feet again and whatever was left of its mind was insane with rage. The revenant roared and broke into a mad charge, barreling over Sorine and making straight for Isran.

Serana met it first, putting herself between the warrior and the sprinting undead. She drove her blade in its chest and pushed with all her strength. She managed to stay on her feet but the momentum still sent her sliding into Isran. The undead was not stopped but slowed. Isran roughly shouldered Serana out of his way, brought his hammer around and completely caved in the monsters skull. It limply dropped to the ground for the last time.

Felwinter kicked an attacking vampire to the ground. “Form up!” He shouted out, his command ringing out over their heads. “Form up now!” Without hesitation, the entire Dawnguard rushed to obey, quick to break off any engagement they could not immediately finish. Serana scrambled to her feet, running to reunite with him before dropping down to one knee as Felwinter nocked a Sunhallowed arrow in Auriel’s bow.

Every other Dawnguard warrior moved to do the same. One partner on their knees, protecting the front from incoming surprised attacks and the other standing and covering them with their body, shield held up over their heads. Agmaer and Durak, Gunmar and Florentius, Isran and Sorine, Felwinter and Serana. Just as they had drilled endlessly in the days before.

Blasts of frost and lightning smashed into the ward Serana placed in front of the two of them. Felwinter fired off two of the arrows into the group of vampires ahead, knocking them off their feet with explosions of sunfire before taking a third arrow, aiming it at the sun and letting it fly.

A sound like a strange kind of thunder boomed over their heads. The outer edge of the sun flared out, filling the entire sky with sunfire and breaking through every cloud that had managed to remain after Felwinter’s initial Shout. Auriel’s bow disappeared and Serana felt Felwinter’s heavy frame cover her, using his body as shield between her and the sun.

Thin bolts of light fell like burning rain from the sky. Every space they landed upon erupted in a burst of damaging sunlight, small and but still forceful enough to create craters in the ground and tear chunks of stone out of the bridge, the castle walls and people. The air filled with screams of rage and pain as focused rays of light speared through their vulnerable bodies, setting them alight and leaving them thrashing on the ground or ripping them to pieces apart with sunfire explosions. The Dawnguard were not spared but they were prepared. Every team remained stone still in the face of the onslaught as their enemies were ripped apart around them, bolts of fire splashing harmlessly off their shields.

Serana knew she was doing the right thing; her father and his people needed to be stopped, by any means necessary. But the massacre surrounding her would remained burned in her mind for a very long time. She had known some of these people…

Felwinter’s weight lifted off her back as he straightened up, surveying the field. It was quiet now. Anything vampire hadn’t been destroyed outright was slowly dying on the ground. Serana swallowed and kept her eyes ahead or up, lest she see the face and the dead eyed stare of someone she really knew.

“Girl!” Isran’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts. He was stomping towards her, kicking the mangled body of one vampire out of his way. “What part of ‘stick to your partner’ are you not understanding, girl?”

It took a few seconds before she realized what he was referring to. Then confusion turned to disbelief. “Excuse me? I saved you!”

“I do not need your help!” Isran punctated every word. His eyes were bloodshot and his hands were still tight on the handle of his hammer. Sweat streaked down his forehead, even in this cold and a thick vein pulsated on his temple. Serana suddenly found her view blocked by Felwinter, who placed himself between her and Isran, their eyes locked onto each other. Murmurs of exhausted apprehension and lament rose up from the Dawnguard, still attempting to regain their bearings but fully afraid the two were going to come to blows again.

“Serana…apologizes,” Felwinter bit out, his teeth barely parting when he did. Then he took a deep breath and Serana saw the tension leave his shoulders. “It won’t happen again. _Trust me_.” Now that was a threat if she had ever heard one. Sorine quietly groaned Felwinter's name.

“You see that it doesn’t, boy.” Isran broke away and marched towards Volkihar’s doors. Sorine muttered a quick apology to the both of them as she hurried past. Felwinter turned to her, his eyes asking the question he always did. _Are you alright_ ? And as always, she lied. Not because of Isran, no but because of what waited for them behind the heavy castle doors of her former home. Because of _everything_ that waited behind the doors of her former home.

Felwinter knew this wasn’t the best time to push. He simply nodded, examined the rest of the Dawnguard behind her and then turned towards Castle Volkihar and made his way through the doors, stepping over a vampire corpse in his way. Serana couldn’t help look at the vampire’s face and a small gasp escaped her lips before she turned away and hurried inside, tears welling in her eyes.

When was the last time she and Vingalmo talked? She could not remember.

* * *

Lord Harkon was inside his inner sanctum, kneeling before their family’s shrine to Molag Bal, just as Serana predicted he would be. She stepped in beside Felwinter and he closed the door behind them, sealing the rest of the battle outside and leaving them wrapped in ringing silence and oppressive darkness.

Still facing the shrine, back turned to them, Harkon’s head slowly raised. “Serana, my dear. I see you still favor keeping a pet. A cat would have been preferable.”

Her hands balled into fists. “You know why we’re here.” Despite her long seated confliction, anger burned in her voice. Father or not he was the cause of everything she has had to suffer for a very long time. This war, her imprisonment. The ritual.

“Of course I do.” Harkon remained on his knees, eyes on the stream of thick, dark blood pouring from Molag Bal’s mouth, affecting a tone of utter disinterest with a hint of paternal condescension. He would never truly take her seriously. He sighed, “You disappoint me, Serana. You’ve taken everything I have provided for you, the lives of the very people you have known your entire life and thrown it all away. And for what? This pathetic thing at your back?”

A disbelieving laugh escaped Serana’s lips before she could stop it. “Provided for me? Are you insane?!”

Harkon’s head turned slightly at that, one burning, golden eye boring into the both of them. “You’ve destroyed this family, _you_ have gotten our people killed, not me, with too many more to follow. All over some obscure prophecy you barely understand!” She ripped her sword from her scabbard, “This ends her. You will not have me and you will not have Fel.”

Fel? Felwinter smiled.

Harkon’s body started to rise off the ground, his legs unfolding in the air. The pressure in the room began to rise. Felwinter could feel it in the way his shoulders became heavier and the middle finger of his left hand started to scratch against his armored legs. Harkon’s back exploded into a shower of pitch black mist, two deformed wings forming out of it. The mist spread around Harkon and began to spin before dropping entirely. A monster stood in Harkon’s place; pale skin that seemed at once both tight against the muscles and rotting off. Drawn back ears and exposed sharp fangs. Felwinter could feel sharp hair growing out of his neck and his own ears flattening back. The Beast wanted out.

“So this dragon has fangs?” Harkon floated closer and Serana took several steps back, closer to Felwinter. Harkon’s voice dripped with the snarl that was ever present on his face. “Your voice drips with the venom of your mother’s influence. How alike you two have become.”

“No. Unlike her, I’m not afraid of you. Not anymore”

“Hm,” he sniffed. “It seems I have you to thank for turning my own daughter against me.” He was facing Felwinter now.

He shrugged, “It was the least I could do for you attacking my family. The _very least_.” Felwinter brought up his hand and pushed Serana behind him. “Besides, I’ve done nothing but make her realize that she deserves to be treated better. This is hate born only of your neglect, Harkon.”

“A small price to pay for the betterment of our kind.”

“Your kind is a blight on the world.”

The vampire let out a loud, sardonic laugh. “My kind. This is who you die beside, Serana? Shameful.” The clawed fingers of both his hands began to spread out. “ And what happens after you kill me, hmm? Is Valerica next? Serana? They are both ‘my kind’.”

“No. _Your_ kind!” Felwinter pointed Dawnbreaker at Harkon’s chest. His lips drew even further back at the heliomantic energies coursing through the blade. “Not vampires. Power hungry murderers who would go as far as to end the world and throw away the lives of those closest to you for your own gain. And I know now, for a fact, Harkon, that not every vampire is like you and it was the daughter of the man who almost took everything from me who has shown me that. Serana is a ‘small price to pay’? Your child is _never_ a small price, least of all for your petty ambitions!”

“Enough!” The sanctum shook with the force of Harkon’s voice and rising magic. “Give me Auriel’s bow, Felwinter Drakon. I will not ask a second time.”

Dawnbreaker disappeared. Auriel’s bow reappeared in its place. “Come get it, Harkon.”

Lord Harkon suddenly threw back his head and let out the loudest, most inhuman howl any of them had ever heard a creature make. He charged Felwinter and Serana, who threw themselves to the side. Felwinter rolled until he was on his back, nocking and loosing an arrow directly into Harkon’s neck.

The sunfire explosion staggered him. Felwinter kept moving and shooting, jumping back and forth behind the pillars of the inner sanctum. Several of the statues suddenly exploded, monstrous gargoyles shaking the stone off their shoulders before running into the fray. Felwinter took his aim off of Harkon and put an arrow into one of his monsters, killing it and allowing Serana to raise it as her own.

A blast of magic strafed over Felwinter’s head, carving a line in the back wall and knocking him off his feet. Harkon was over him before he could hit the ground, clawed hand raised high. Felwinter kept and kept rolling, kicking up to his feet and firing off another Sunhallowed arrow aimed at Harkon’s head.

Harkon shifted to the side, the arrow whizzing past and embedding itself in the back wall of the sanctum. Felwinter could hear a laugh escape the vampire’s throat. Regardless, the distraction served well enough.

Felwinter’s upper teeth sharpened and grew past his thinning lips. Sharp pin-like black hair pushed its way through his skin and Felwinter’s armor disappeared as his body started to shift and contort. Harkon’s pure, unbridled disgust could be felt in waves.

Felwinter howled and threw himself across the sanctum, landing on him and knocking them both to the ground. Drops of spittle dripped from Felwinter’s snapping maw as he tried to push past Harlon’s straining arms to get to his throat. Harkon raked his free claws down Felwinter’s side and kicked his feet into his stomach, drawing bloody lines all along Felwinter’s body.

Felwinter grabbed Harkon by the shoulders, lifted him off of the floor and slammed him head first down into the stone head of Molag Bal, shattering it with the force of the impact. He picked the dazed vampire up again and threw him against the back wall. Harkon hit the stone bricks, bounced off and jumped at Felwinter, closing the distance before he could do the same. He rammed skull into Felwinter’s and managed to spin him around. He wrapped his gangly arms around the werewolf’s massive, thrashing form and bared his fangs, preparing himself to sink in.

Felwinter suddenly threw himself to the side and a blast of purple thunder struck Harkon square in the face. Serana fired off blast after blast, her eyes shining in the dark, her entire body crackling in a sheath of static shock magic. Felwinter rolled out of her way and stalked closer to her as Harkon’s body rocked with each hit. Before he could touch the wall again, Harkon planted his feet in the stone and started to march forward, weathering the strikes and stalking towards Serana, a gleam of horrible rage in his beady eyes.

Serana stopped firing shots and let out a stream of crackling electricity, staggering but not stopping her father’s advance. Felwinter began to bound forward, head low, shoulders raised and careful to avoid Serana’s destructive stream. Serana’s power faltered and the stream dropped. Felwinter pounced. Harkon whipped up his arms, caught Felwinter’s giant body and used his own momentum to launch him across the room. Felwinter heard Serana scream his name as he smashed into the back wall. Cracks started to crawl up from the floor to the ceiling and some of the bricks managed to come loose and partially bury Felwinter’s reverting body under them.

Serana’s instinct to run to him was shut down by her father, advancing on her once again. His clawed fingers dripped with red fluid that reeked of Felwinter. His shoulders were raised and in his eyes remained none of the man she had ever known. Harkon flew at her, letting a wild cry that shook the very foundation of the castle. Serana forced herself out of her paralysis and reacted, tucking and rolling out of the way and onto her feet, spinning around to bring her sword up, parrying and knocking away Harkon’s clawed hands. Many times Felwinter had drilled her through that one move and one time it has worked. She kept up the momentum, pushing out a force wave of magic that shoved her father back and rattled the sanctum. The cracks along the back wall and on the ceiling began to crawl a little bit faster.

Harkon fell to his one knee with a groan, dark blood running down from the wounds Felwinter had inflicted. He reached up with one mangled, near fingerless hand and touched his left eye, completely ruined by Serana’s magic. Laughter began to bubble in his throat, tepid chuckling that quickly gave rise to cackling so filled with bloodlust and hysteria, Serana found her sword arm wavering and her feet taking step after step back until her back hit one of the pillars.

“You’ve always been more trouble than you were worth, girl.” Harkon lifted off the ground and slowly started to glide towards Serana. “Since the day your first breath, the only thing that kept you or your mother alive was that prophecy. And it will be fulfilled, Serana. Nothing you or that oversized dog of yours will change that.

Harkon stopped, caught her sword hand by the wrist and squeezed. The pain made Serana cry out, her blade clattering to the ground. Then Harkon’s other hand wrapped around her throat and the magically induced pain spread throughout her entire body. He sneered as his daughter croaked desperately, slowly and exquisitely ripping the life from her as she thrashed to escape her grip. Serana’s vision began to fade…

_“HARKON!!!”_ The vampire’s hand around Serana’s throat suddenly went limp. She scrambled away as the entire limb fell to the ground, severed completely at the elbow. Harkon barely had time to scream when Felwinter wrapped both his arms around him and heaved. He threw the both of them to the center of the sanctum, keeping his feet pressed to the ground even as it grew slick and wet with Harkon’s streaming blood.

Pushing through her pain, Serana scrambled for her sword and then locked eyes with Felwinter. They were wild, intense and held a distinct look of warning. Further warning came in the form of glowing blood dripping from his gloveless hands and the blue fire that started to gather around him. Her mind flashed back to the army of vampires her father had sent to retrieve her.

She ran.

Serana ducked behind the sturdiest pillar she could get to in time, curling into a ball with her hand to her ears, waiting for the blast that would soon come. An Oblivion portal popped open before her. A Dremora suddenly came running out and wrapped itself around her, following Felwinter’s orders to protect her with its life.

Even through the muddling of her hands over her ears, she could hear her father’s feral shrieks, see the blood spraying back and forth all across the sanctum as he struggled to get out of Felwinter’s grip. All of it was silenced by an explosion that felt loud and forceful enough to split all of Skyrim in two. Blue sunfire either blackened every wall, every stone pillar still standing after their fight or outright shattered them.

The Dremora disappeared. On shaky legs, Serana stood and peeked around her own pillar just in time to watch Felwinter let her father’s body slide limply to the ground, blackened and charred beyond even her own recognition. “Serana, are you alright?” Felwinter’s shoulders were heaving. Rivulets of blood fell from cuts upon his face. Somehow, she still managed to be his primary concern. Her eyes shifted to the body in a crumpled heap on the ground and the torrent of emotions she had held back for so long began to climb to the surface.

“Serana…” Felwinter grabbed her arm, his voice no longer filled with concern but with warning. The entire sanctum started to shake. The largest crack above their heads split open and a chunk of the ceiling fell at the back of the room. Serana was pushed forwards towards the exit and they ran. She shouldered the door open and stepped back into the open area of the castle, turning to grab Felwinter and pull him through.

She saw him and she also saw her father, not as dead as she had hoped, somehow back on his feet and bearing down on Felwinter as he moved to escape the collapsing room. Her blade was in her hand before she realized what she was doing. With a scream, she thrust forward as hard as she possibly could.

Her blade sank into something solid and wet. She opened eyes she did not realize she had closed. Felwinter had jumped out of her way. Her sword was embedded deep in her father’s sternum, tiny streams of his blood spraying out from the wound. What remained of his battered face was twisted into dumbfounded shock. Serana’s hands began to tremble as the full realization of what she just did.

Felwinter wrapped his hands around her sword and ripped it out of the seeping wound. With three powerful words, he sent Harkon hurtling back into the chamber with a blast of wind and the sound of thunder. The ceiling cracked in half and fell inward, bringing the rest of the room down upon itself until the entrance was sealed by the rubble.

Felwinter took in a deep breath and whispered, “ _LAAS_.” His eyes flitting over the rubble as if he could see through it. Then his eyes closed and his shoulders relaxed. “It’s done.”

Serana’s trembling hands were still wrapped tightly around her sword. Her eyes burned, she hadn’t blinked since. The full gravity of what she had just done had finally come down on her and the weight was crushing.

Large but gentle fingers wrapped around the tips of her own. One by one, Felwinter unwrapped Serana’s fingers from her dripping sword. She startled when it clattered in the ground, her eyes darting around until they locked on to him.

Felwinter’s arm slid around her shoulders and she collapsed into his chest, shaking like a leaf. . He drew her in closer. “It’s over,” he murmured again, “It’s okay, it’s okay. It’s over.” He sighed, “It’s over.”

“So it seems.”

Felwinter’s fingers subtly tightened at the sound of Isran’s voice. Serana slipped from his embrace and let him turn to face the other man. Isran was leaning on his bloodied hammer, taking weight off one of his legs. He jerked his head towards the hill of rubble. “He in there?” He asked.

Felwinter grunted in the affirmative.

“Hmm.” His dark eyes turned to Serana, who on instinct turned away. Isran lifted himself off of his hammer and hobbled forward. Felwinter moved between the two and Isran stopped before him. A weary sigh blew through his nose.

From where she was, she could see…something in Isran’s eyes. For a half of a half second and then it was gone. “I suppose this is difficult for you.”

“I did what need to be done,” she murmured, her arms wrapped around herself. “Nothing more.”

“I think…I think you did more than that.” Isran’s permanent frown softened. “You have my thanks, gi…Serana.You have _our_ thanks, Serana.” He turned back to Felwinter, whose eyes had never left him. “All of the castle inhabitants are dead. We have no dead, some injured or infected but Florentius is healing them now. We will be meeting back at Fort Dawnguard once we’ve done one more sweep of the area.”

Felwinter suddenly stepped back and around Isran. “Serana and I have unfinished business.”

“And what business is that, boy?”

“Absolutely none of yours. Let’s go, Serana.” He began to walk towards the other side of the hall and not wanting to be left alone with the increasingly angry older man, she hurried to follow. He led her to her mother’s old laboratory. Nothing had been moved, her father still had never found it and he portal to the Cairn was still swirling in the ground below. Felwinter closed the door behind him and gestured for her to go ahead and take the first step in.

Her mother would want to hear the good news.

* * *

“So this is it, lad? You’re leaving?” Felwinter heard Gunmar coming in from wooden gates where his trolls were kept behind.

The Dawnguard warriors had arrived back at the fort just a day ago. It was early morning, most were still sleeping off both injuries and drink alike. They couldn’t be blamed. Any victory was worth celebrating and this one was more than most. Harkon and his ilk were dead in the ground, the Dawnguard were stronger than ever and Skyrim would be able to see peace at least for a while.

Serana waited for him in the atrium while Felwinter dropped off his effects, the pieces of the Dawnguard armor on an empty wooden table, meticulously cleaned and checked for any damage it might have sustained during its one time use. “So it seems.”

“We can’t convince you to stick around?”

Felwinter turned and chuckled. “No unfortunately. But asking me with your shirt off was a pretty good effort.”

The Nord threw back his head and laughed from his belly. “It was worth a shot,” he said, retrieving his shirt from behind one of the wooden posts and pulling it over himself. After another few seconds of silence, Gunmar walked forward and leaned back against the table where Felwinter stood. “It’s a shame, lad. We could really use you around here.”

Felwinter felt the first prick of guilt and opened his mouth to respond but Gunmar put his hands up, “I know, I know.” He sighed, “And I don’t blame you. After what happened….after what Isran said to you, well, I don’t think I’d feel very comfortable here either.”

“He and I made a deal. We end this crisis, I stay out of his life,” Felwinter said, “I’m just honoring my end of our bargain.”

“Have you two spoken since Volkihar?”

Felwinter shook his head but then said, “I will talk to him before I leave.”

Gunmar’s jaw opened and his eyes darted to the side, “Aaahhh….”

“I have a letter to give him, Gunmar. From my mother. There won’t be any fighting, I promise.” Felwinter placed the greaves next to the cuirass. If there were, it would not be on his end. He was done wasting his energy or emotions on the man.

Gunmar didn’t even attempt to hide his relief, “Okay, good.” He raised one big hand and clapped Felwinter down on his shoulder, “Then it’s been an honor, Dragonborn. Truly,” he said, holding the other hand out.

Felwinter clasped his forearm with a nod and a small smile. He noticed the small bit of sadness in the man’s eyes and berated himself for his stupidity, all while saying. “If you have jobs you need taken care of, you can send them to me at my home. Just...don’t put Isran’s name on the front. I’ll just burn it.”

Gunmar laughed again, “Points for honesty, I’ll give you that. Safe travels, Drakon.”

“And may your victories multiply, Gunmar.”

* * *

 

Felwinter stopped before the open doorway. He hadn’t bothered to hide to sound of his footsteps on the stone but he slammed his fist against the stone doorframe anyway.

Isran, still in full armor, remained at his desk but straightened. Felwinter expected tension within the room, within himself. Emotions he didn’t have the willpower to explain to himself that he felt whenever he so much as thought of Isran. There was none of that now.

“You’re leaving then?” Isran grunted, his back still to Felwinter but his head turned.

“A deal’s a deal. I kill Harkon, I stay out of your life for good.” His voice never wavered, not with hurt and not with spite, like it would have before.

The old Redguard grunted again, his fingers running over the old wood of his desk. “Gunmar, Florentius and Sorine had mentioned jobs you might be able to take?”

“They know how to contact me.”

“And Agmaer?”

“What about him?”

“He looks up to you,” he said simply.

Felwinter’s eyes narrowed. The man was stalling. “I’ve said my goodbyes. He’ll deal.”

“And Serana?”

“Do not concern yourself with her.” Felwinter snapped, feeling his emotions jump before slowly simmering back down, “Is there a point to this questioning, Isran?”

“I…” the old man sighed. His hands squeezed into fists and opened again and again. He took in a deep breath, “I wish…to apologize.” He finally turned around to face Felwinter, “You have done much for us, in spite of the revelation and I’m not sure where we would be if you had never shown up on our doorstep. What I had said before was wrong and…you did not deserve it.”

“Where you all would be,” Felwinter repeated, “At my guess, either dead with your body parts strewn across the landscape or taken prisoner as Harkon’s own human livestock.”

“I am… _trying_ to have a serious conversation, boy.”

“So am I. And I’m failing,” Felwinter said back, “But go ahead and stop your apologizing. It’s more painful for me to watch you than it is for you to say, I’m sure and to be honest, what does it change?” He asked, “Are you going to suddenly tell me you were lying? You want me in your life now? You want to get to know me, to be the father you should have been thirty years ago?”

“Drakon…” the warning was clear in Isran’s voice.

“Save it, Isran. There’s nothing you can say or do that can take back what you said. You meant it. Every word. And I am done wasting my energy on you.”

“Then why are you here, boy? Besides to get on my last nerve?”

“Serana will remain in the area,” he said, his tone indifferent to Isran’s anger. He stepped closer until their faces were inches from each other. “As a willing member of _your_ Dawnguard and an instrumental part of the effort save possibly all of Tamriel, I fully expect her to be able to safely come and go as she pleases. And should anything, I mean _anything_ , Isran, happen to Serana, I will hold you personally responsible.” His voice dropped to a whisper and he moved towards Isran’s was, “You saw what I did to Harkon. Don’t think for a second you are safe, Isran.”

Felwinter stepped back and held Isran violently angry gaze for a few more silent seconds before taking the letter from one of his pockets and holding it up between them. “A letter,” he said, “From Delilah Drakon.”

Isran eyed the letter before snatching it out of Felwinter’s fingers and roughly ripping it open. The message was two sheets. A normal sized piece of parchment with writing and a smaller, card shaped one, folded into the written letter.

Isran took one look at the smaller parchment and his nostrils suddenly flared and his upper lip formed into a vicious snarl. His breathing became loud and heavy, his shoulders rising and falling with each one. His eyes were blown open, with a throbbing vein stretching from each one down the sides of his head. The hand holding the smaller letter was trembling.

Isran slowly turned back to his desk. He placed both letters face down and hunched over it, propped up by his arms. When he finally spoke again, a weight could be heard in his voice, as if he were making an effort to keep himself steady. “Be on your way, Drakon.”

Felwinter found himself curious. What could his mother possibly have said that elicited such a strong reaction from the old man. But he did what he had came to do. Isran’s presence was getting intolerable. Felwinter turned on his heels without a word and walked from the room, shutting Isran’s door behind him.

Before he could move from in front of the door, he heard the bed creak. Felwinter let the first word of the Aura Whisper out of his mouth. A red cloud took on the shape of Isran behind the door. He was sitting on the bed with the smaller letter in hand, just staring at it.

The form disappeared. Felwinter took it as his cue.

* * *

“Serana,” Felwinter started. They had been walking for sometime, through the forests of the Rift. Fort Dawnguard was long behind them and Riften was in sight, “I didn’t say this before. But I am proud of you,” he said, “You’ve come farther than I imagined, both as a warrior and a person. Not even the strongest people in the world would be able to do what you just did.”

“I…” she blinked and a hand came up to rub her arm, “Thank you, Felwinter. Really.”

“Honeyside is yours for as long as you’ll have it.” He promised. He stopped thinking of it as his house long ago. When she didn’t respond, he asked, “Are you okay?”

She shrugged, her hand still running up and down her arm. She knows she did the right thing. But all she could see when she thought back to the fight were the few happy times her family had, juxtaposed with the sight of her father’s face as he was impaled on Serana’s blade, seconds before being shoved back into a crumbling room and crushed to death before her eyes. “I don’t know, Felwinter. I really don’t.”

“Say you will be.”

“What?”

“Say you will be okay,” he said again, “My mother once told me that wording it like that means you aren’t okay now, sure. But you refuse to let these emotions, these problems run your life. They will all pass and when they do, you’ll come out of it alive and you’ll be okay.”

Slowly, Serana’s hand dropped from her arm. Felwinter picked up her now free hand and traced a strange, glowing tune into the palm. “That will let you access the portal room. I only give it to family.” Her eyes came up from her hand and locked onto his, staring at him through welling tears, “I’ll be in Whiterun, if you ever want to talk. Visit soon. Moth has been hoping to meet you.”

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. She found herself leaning in as they kept walking, feeling the heat and safety the big man radiated and finally feeling the full gravity of his words.

No matter her father’s actions, her mother’s words, no matter her past or her future, she will face it, see it through and she won’t ever have to do it alone.

She’ll be okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends the Dawnguard arc. I hope this chapter was worth the wait. There are three more after this and then Book One will be complete. 
> 
> A prequel will be posted and then Book Two will be released sometime after. It will showcase my retelling on the Dragonborn arc and is titled “Apotheosis”


	26. Chapter Twenty-Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good deed for the month. Nothing serious, just meant to be a fun, lighthearted chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Summer finals are finally done 
> 
> \\(^o^)/
> 
> I start fall semester in a week T___T

Felwinter’s mother once told him to hold onto to his peace. Hold onto it, enjoy it to the absolute fullest and when it was inevitably time, let it go. The next problem would always be waiting for him around the corner and avoiding it would not work for it had the patience to outlast gods.

As usual, she had been right. Felwinter’s entire adult life seemed to be crisis after crisis with snatches of peace to punctuate them. He had left High Rock for Hammerfell when he was twenty two. Then moved on to Cyrodiil when he had turned twenty nine and onto Skyrim, crossing into Falkreath Hold on the day of his thirtieth birthday in the month of Frostfall.

He couldn’t say he’s experienced worst or more interesting birthdays. None of the previous twenty nine have almost ended with him executed unjustly only to be accidentally saved by _the_ fabled god of destruction himself.

There was one other that nearly resulted in him being physically injured but thinking back on it, that beating might have been deserved. He had drunkenly seduced the wife of some wealthy Redguard merchant he had interacted with only a few times beforehand and had given her, a woman who was used to the most expensive silken bedsheets a good night in some rickety old bed off in some rundown tavern in the shady part of town.

Then when said merchant sought him out, personally confronting him to demand satisfaction, Felwinter gave it to him. Three times that night and twice more in the morning.

One would think the wife would be the one better at using her mouth but then one would wind up being oh so very and happily wrong.

Moth refuses to believe him when Felwinter says he used to be worse. All the claim elicits from the grizzled Orsimer is a disbelieving grunt of, “How?”. He had been young, stupid of the unwitting variety rather than deliberately as he is now when it benefits him, lonely and combining all of that with a fondness for full, shapely hips or thick, powerful shoulders….

The two worked it out in the end.

His birthdays were either boring or completely downhill from there, up until Helgen. Helgen took the bar of his standards and buried it six feet under; it couldn’t possibly get worse after that. It certainly taught him to appreciate the boring ones more.

Helgen, High Hrothgar, the Eye of Magnus, Kodlak’s death and Alduin’s defeat to Astrid and Madanach. Then the vampire attack on Whiterun, Ulfric’s attack on Whiterun, Mercer Frey, meeting his father for the very first time, meeting the Blades for the first time in a very long and the assault on Castle Volkihar just last week, the moments to breathe in between had become an exceptional rarity and something he had learned to hold onto, cherish with every fiber of his being and make it worth having.

But Felwinter has s walked in the land of the Nordic dead, spoken to gods, fought a god, _killed_ both a god and a wannabe and saved the world three times over. He’s seen too much just to remain idle.

Which is why he was here, volunteering his skills in Restoration at the Temple of Kynareth, resetting the arm of some foul mouthed guard who had attempted to put the limb back into place himself and failed miserably. When the pain finally won over the man’s pride, he had dragged himself over to the Dragonborn, who was known to most for being effective at the jobs requiring brute strength and not for his gentleness.

The blonde, red faced Nord wasn’t a part of the ‘most’. Otherwise he would have known what to expect and kept his complaints to a minimum or at least gone to someone else. “Talos’ fat balls man, I thought you were a healer!”

“Who lied to you?” Felwinter moved his arm into a better position, knowing he’d only get one chance to knock it back into place. He wasn’t an expert but he was rather decent with healing magic. He had to be, given the amount of times he’s been cut, stabbed, burned, chilled and shocked. Experience was a always a better teacher than simple schooling.

The guard was on his stomach. Felwinter had stretched out the arm towards him and placed his palm firmly against the joint. “On the count of three, okay?” For all his bluster, the young man suddenly looked very nervous, nodding vigorously. Felwinter pushed a bit more magic into him, numbing the pain a bit more. “Alright, one, two and...” Felwinter pushed down and the shoulder snapped back into place.

The Nord roared and thrashed while Felwinter pressed his weight against his back, keeping him in place until he finally calmed down, his chest heaving under him. Then Felwinter pushed even more magic into him, to lessen the pain while he began to bind the arm. “Now I believe we were discussing Talos’ fat hairy balls?”

Despite everything, the guardsman laughed. “Please don’t.”

“I mean you see the statue outside. Those legs…”

“Daedra take you, man.”

Felwinter tightened the final bandages. “Akatosh willing, the second I find my way into Oblivion.” He helped the man to his feet, “Alright, you’re good to go. Get out.”

“Your bedside manner is improving.” Danica nodded to the guardsman as he passed her. “It is nice to see. I remember when you first started volunteering your time here, you tried to fist-fight one of my patients.”

“Your patient was Hrongar. Can you blame me?”

“You then put Vilkas into a chokehold…”

“And now he thinks twice about referring to what is between me and Hrongar as ‘belligerent sexual tension’.” He shrugged and smiled brightly, “Worked out in the end, didn’t it?”

“Hmm.” The sound she made was both admonishing and amused. She was a woman no longer surprised by even his wildest antics. Usually a trait seen in those closest to him such as his mother, his husband and kids and his housecarls; the man who had taught him how to be a man, the dragon who had taught him how to be more. When you sew someone back together so many times after so many fights, both extremely instigated and not as extremely instigated, then there is little they could do to surprise you anymore. The younger him would have taken it as a challenge.

“Since you’ve done much in the way if improvement, I would ask a favor.” Felwinter then noticed the brown leather pack at her hip, strapped to her shoulder. “This war is winding to a close, thanks to your help but many injured Legionnaires and civilians find their way to our doorsteps. Supplies have been dwindling and we need time to gather more. Can I trust you to run this place for a few hours?”

“Of course you can,” he replied.

“And nothing will be on fire when I return?” she continued, her eyebrow raised in a high arch, “Nothing and _no one_?”

“Such doubt! Well earned but still.” That made her smile. “I’ll hold down the fort and the temple will still be here when you return. I promise.” 

Danica visibly relaxed and if Felwinter had been a completely different man, he might have been a little insulted. Either way, she’d have a point. “Thank you again, Felwinter. Truly, there was a million things you could be doing right now, we’re really grateful you took the time to help us.”

“It’s no trouble at all.” He started to walk her to the door, the other temple healers already waiting for her outside. “And like you said, nothing and no one will be on fire.”

* * *

“Drakon!”

The gods just loved testing him, didn’t they? Akatosh had no sliver of mercy in his heart for his last born son.

Hrongar, as usual, was loud, paying no mind to the injured and informed attempting to rest. The total opposite of his brother, who didn’t feel the need to immediately take the attention of everyone in the room just to make himself heard.

Felwinter was with one of Battle-Born’s farmers, a Bosmer woman who had twisted her ankle out in the fields. She winced and flinched when Felwinter’s lapse in concentration caused his spell to temporarily cut off, making the pain flare up again. Felwinter took more time with his binding.

“Drakon!” He yelled again. The lady flinched more from the noise this time. “Have you gone deaf?”

“You rarely have anything to say worth listening to.” Felwinter gave a small smile to the woman, who stifled laughter. He fastened the last of the bandages. “Besides, I’m occupied.”

“I need a potion.”

“Stand up and walk around for me. Slowly,” he said to the woman, helping her down from the table. “Trouble getting it up for your lady friend? Have you tried men?”

“It’s for Nelkir, fool!”

Felwinter slowly helped the farmer around the room, feeling and ignoring Hrongar’s scowl on the back of his head. “Tell the Battle-Borns you’re in no condition to work but you should be fine after a week,” He ordered as he helped her to the door. “If they take issue, send them to me.”

“Are you not hearing me, Redguard?! I said I need a potion!”

Call it Beast Instincts or dragon instincts or the fact that they have been in this very position before but Felwinter felt it coming. A large hand moving towards his shoulder, either to pin him against the wall or force him to turn around and face the they man. Barely turning to face him, Felwinter’s own arm flew up, his index finger stopping inches away from Hrongar’s face.

Hrongar’s arm stopped, his hand frozen halfway to Felwinter before slowly lowering back to his side. His eyes never left Felwinter’s finger. The last time they had been in this position, a tiny bolt of lightning had blackened a tiny spot on the wall behind his head.

But only because he managed to move away in time.

Felwinter held the man at finger point for an uncomfortable amount of time before he asked, a little too cheerfully, “So what did you do?”

Hrongar’s eyes shifted from Felwinter’s hand to his face and back. “The boy hurt-”

“No, he didn’t, otherwise you wouldn’t be there.” Felwinter’s finger shifted position slightly, pointing to a table with a crate of small potions behind them, “Take _one_. And hurry back before big brother finds out you injured his son again.”

Finally, Felwinter’s hand dropped. Hrongar took several steps backwards before turning towards the table. He reached in with both hands and then ducked when a thunderbolt blasted a tiny crack in the wall above his head. “Can you not count? Are you that much of an idiot? I said one!”

His head still ducked but his eyes burning with rage, Hrongar indignantly dropped one bottle back into the crate before stomping his way out of the temple, cursing Felwinter and every single one of his ancestors under his breath.

Felwinter walked towards the crate of potions, stared at the tiny black spot on the wall he had create, dragged his thumb over his tongue and started trying to scrub it out before Danica could return and see it. Half an hour in and he was already breaking his promise.

* * *

“Felwinter?! Felwinter!”

He could tell Vilkas’ voice from a crowd of them. The man being panickedly called for remained slouched in his chair, turned away from the door. “Unless you’re dying,then it can wait!” He called. “If you are indeed dying, do so quietly.”

“Felwinter, it’s Farkas!” Now the voice was right behind his head. Felwinter stood up with a groan and turned to find Vilkas right behind him, slouching under the weight of his brother, who was completely out cold. “I-I mean we were training and he left his right side open and I…sort of…hit him.” The dark haired Nord looked so horribly guilty that if Felwinter were a better man, he’d actually feel bad for the way he started cackling.

“This man and his head injuries, right?” He crowed, grabbing Farkas’ stubbly chin and shaking his limp head around.

“This is not funny, Drakon! He could have a brain injury or something!”

“At this rate, he probably does! After that dragon and the-”

“Will you just help him?!”

“Fine, just…I don’t know, leave him on the ground some-oh don’t give me that look, I was joking!” He took Farkas’ limp arm and pulled his large frame over his shoulder, carrying him over to the nearest bed. His called the magic to his hands and started to run them over the Nord’s head. “No damage. The bastard’s hard-headed.”

Vilkas was looming over him like a mother hen, worrying at his lip. Felwinter dropped the spell and a smirk crossed his lips. “Wow, you’re really worried about him. Worried about your baby brother?”

“We’re twins!”

“D’aww, look at you! You’re worried!” He reached to pinch Vilkas’ red cheeks and Vilkas knocked it away. He brought his hand up again, only to have it knocked away again. A third time, a fourth, a fifth, Vilkas’ visible irritation growing deeper and deeper with every attempt. Felwinter kept still for a few moments before slowly raising his hand again when Vilkas drew back a tight fist. “Alright, alright!”

He started to loosen the straps on Farkas’ armor. “I’ll watch him, wait for him to wake up.”

Vilkas looked between the two them. “You don’t have some kind of spell that can wake him now?”

“None that won’t hurt!” Felwinter dropped back into his seat, “We’ll wait and then you can spend the next few weeks pretending you didn’t almost cry over him. Sound good?”

“Daedra take you, you smug bastard.”

“Gods willing, Vilkas.” He resumed his original slouched position with a yawn, “Gods willing.”

* * *

“Does it hurt?”

Braith sniffed and lied, “No.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“I’m not!” She flinched as the hot pain that moving her face brought up coursed through her.

Felwinter hummed and moved his hand down the faint bruise on the little girl’s cheek. When she whined and her eyes watered, he pushed diverted some of his energy away from repair to alleviating. “You know, if you’re gonna go around picking fights, it doesn’t look good for you to be dragging yourself over to the healer, crying every time.”

“I’m not crying!” She quickly brought up her hand to wipe away a tear preparing to fall.

“Of course not.” He started to slowly tape the bandages on and remain silent, watching her little brown eyes flit across the floor.

“You know…” he started again, “if you wanted Lars to like you, treating him nicely would get you farther. Farther than picking fights with him and then running here not-crying when he finally fights back at least.”

The lids of her eyes lowered even further. “But what if he doesn’t like me back?”

“If he rejects you?” He said, “Rejection’s like a wound or this bruise.” He sealed the last bandage on, “It hurts now, doesn’t it?”

She nodded. “But is it always going to hurt?” He asked.

“No.”

“No, it won’t. And soon, you won’t even remember it happened. If he says no, let it hurt, let it heal and then move on. You can’t change his mind.” Felwinter heard someone enter, from the rarely used back entrance. He straightened up, sent Braith on her way with a jerk of his head and walked over to table, using a basin of water to clean his hands. “So did someone lose a finger? A hand? An arm?” He asked whoever had just walked in, drying his hands“Make it entertaining for me at least.”

“Drakon!” His name was said in a loud, desperate whisper, “Felwinter, it’s us!”

He finally turned and the cloth fell to the ground. “What. The. Fuck are you two doing here?!”

,Sapphire one of the ranking members of. Skyrim’s Thieves guild was standing there, with an Argonian woman’s arm wrapped around his neck as she held one leg up off the ground. “We had nowhere else to go!”

“So you come here?! To the biggest city in the hold?!” He looked over to make sure Farkas was still knocked out before helping Sapphire carry the woman over to a bed, “How did you even know where I lived?”

“Brynjolf mentioned it sometime ago.” Sapphire was pacing. The Argonian thief, a new recruit he did not recognize, silently beared her pain with a scowl on her sharp face. Disappointment in herself no doubt. “And we had nowhere else to go. She’s in no condition to travel.”

“Of all the places…” he immediately started working on healing the most superficial damage. “Nobody knows I lead the Guild, you know that right? Do you know how much shit I’d be in if people were to see me helping you?”

“I just told you we had nowhere else to go!” She started to pace even faster.

“Alright, alright. Don’t burn a trail into my floor, I have to clean that.” His magic started to penetrate deeper into the bone. “How did you even get into the city?”

“I told the guards there was some trouble out in the field.”

He turned away from his work to look her up and down, “You played up the damsel in distre-”

“I played up the damsel, yes.”

“Breathy voice, heaving tits?”

“Their eyes never left my chest even as they were tripping over themselves to go and investigate, yes.” He could hear the small bit of pride within the irritation.

“I could never pull it off honestly,” he quickly started to wrap the Argonian’s ankle, speaking to her now, “Voice too deep. Tits not big enough.” He grabbed and squeezed at his own chest for emphasis, earning a small, if pained smile. “Though there was this one guard, in Markarth. Young, blonde, rather short, could never keep his eyes off my shoulders or arms so I would just loom over him sometimes. Give him something to think about when he’s alone at night.” He fastened the last of the bindings. “Still do but the guard captain he’s currently fucking doesn’t like that. Or he wishes I would do it to him, I can’t tell yet.”

The Argonian laughed this time. Felwinter stood and pointed towards one of the wardrobes. “There’s some cloaks in there. Cover yourselves, get out of the city and take the carriage back to Riften.”

“We apologize for the trouble,” the Argonian woman said, speaking for the first time.

“It’s fine,” he lied, as if their presence here didn’t put him in an extremely compromising position. Sapphire returned with the long, hooded cloak already wrapped around her shoulders and helped her companion on with hers. “Some people here already think I’m some kind of thief. I’d rather not prove them right. They’ll be so insufferably smug about it.”

* * *

On occasion, the gods would see fit to throw him a bone. A reward for the good deed he managed to do every once in blue moons. A particularly lucrative job or a valuable find tucked away in a Nordic crypt or Dwemer fort.

This bone was different because this ie came in the form of a big Orsimer man and his little Imperial son planted firmly in the temple chairs, waiting to be attended to.

“Not one word, Drakon.”

The Drakon in question was currently weighing the costs and benefits of him breaking down in laughter. because here was Moth, sitting calmly, glowering at the growing amusement in Felwinter’s eyes with a long feathered arrow sticking out of his shoulder and a horribly guilty looking Samuel sitting next to him, nervous fiddling the bow around in his hands.

“So-”

“No,” Moth cut off, “Don’t talk, don’t laugh, don’t make a gods forsaken sound. Just get this damned thing out of me.” Samuel ducked his head and squeezed his eyes shut, as if Moth’s snarling was being aimed at him.

Still trying to hold back his amusement, Felwinter put his hand to Moth’s wound, starting off by numbing the pain and feeling for the arrow head. “Where’s Lucia?” He asked. Not deep at all. That’s good.

“With the Companions,” Moth bit out, punctuating his answer with a growl. Felwinter must have hit a sensitive spot. Samuel only curled more into himself. “Left her there after this mess started.”

Felwinter touched the arrow. Moth flinched and Samuel practically flew out of his skin, squeaking apology after apology after apology.

“You know, this all looks very familiar.” Felwinter braced his hand against Moth’s chest and wrapped his hand around the wooden shaft.

“What are you on about, Felwinter?” Moth shook his head, “You know what? I don’t care. Just get-” Moth’s order was cut off by a pained snark when Felwinter pushed against his chest and ripped the arrow out. Felwinter immediately began to dull the pain and repair the damage. Moth’s deep breaths began to quiet and his shoulders relaxed as time passed. Samuel looked as if he might start crying.

“You got him good, Sam,” Felwinter said, hoping to calm him down before he burst. “Just make sure you keep your sights away from people. For now, at least.”

Moth groaned, less in pain and more from weariness. “Quit moping, Samuel. It was an accident and nothing more.” He jerked his head at the exit, “Go find your sister. Stay with-” Samuel bolted before he could even finish. “Samuel! Hey Samuel, your bow! Boy!”

“I’m serious, I really have seen this before. In one of the Elder Scrolls,” Felwinter muttered to himself, rubbing his chin, “Perpetually angry father. Son shoots him with arrow…”

“What in the world are you going on about?”

“I believe I was a talking head…”

The headache Moth was developing hurt worse than his shoulder. “I thought you said you were going to stop reading the Scrolls…”

Felwinter turned back to him. “Did I? Huh.” He waved his hand dismissively, “Well in that case, forget everything you just heard.”

* * *

“So what’s his story?” Moth jerked his chin towards Farkas and took Felwinter’s hip flask when it was passed to him.

“His brother knocked him out cold during training. It’s all very funny. He feels really bad.”

Things had slowed down. The sun was setting and most workers were ending their day. From inside the temple, they could hear the streets becoming louder as more people met up and made for the tavern.

Felwinter wasn’t interested; Danica was not yet back and he’s honestly had his full of people and their issues for the day. Moth was never that big a fan of people in the first place; too draining, he would say. So they remained in the temple, leaning on each other against the wall, passing a flask between them and watching Farkas drift around in his own little dream world. His body would twitch and shift on occasion. He was probably just asleep at this point.

“Any idea when the priestess might return?” Moth twisted his head to stretch out a crick in his neck, “I’m ready to go home. We spent all day in those plains.”

“You know I’m the only one who has to stay, right? You can leave whenever.”

“I’d rather leave with you.” Moth propped one large foot up on a stool, his hand squeezing Felwinter’s knee.

“You afraid to walk the dark streets alone?” He teased, “Scared Samuel might be waiting around any corner with another arrow?”

Moth sighed, “Ah, that boy. Should probably apologize to him at some point.”

“That’ll be fun to-”

The temple doors suddenly burst open and Danica rushed in, forehead shining even in the cool air and completely out of breath. “Felwinter, thank the gods. Please, I need your help.”

Felwinter and Moth, both already on their feet, shared a look. “What’s the matter? Is someone hurt?”

“Yes, someone is and I really need your help to save his life. Please.” The look on her face was a desperate as she sounded and Felwinter couldn’t recall a time he had ever seen her so near to losing her composure. Moth put the hand of his uninjured arm up to Felwinter’s lower back and pushed to get him moving. Danica led Felwinter through the streets of Whiterun, weaving their way through small, talkative crowds of people until they had reached the city gates.

“How far away is this person, Danica?”

“They’re close but they’re hidden away,” she said, “I couldn’t risk anyone finding them.”

Felwinter’s mind immediately went to Sapphire and the injured Argonian. “Uh, who are these people exactly?” he asked in a tight voice, “Why do they need to be hidden away?”

“You’ll see,” was all she answered, “And when you do, please help them. Regardless of current events in Skyrim, I promised to save this man’s life and I do not want to break it.” Danica led him off the main path and into the shadow of Whiterun’s stone walls. “We’re close.”

“ _LAAS_ , _”_ Felwinter Shouted. In a sea of dark, a red cloud stood out to Felwinter. Too big to be one person. Two people; one holding the other.

Danica picked up the hem of her skirt and started jogging. She stopped and dropped to knees at the base of the walls. “How is he?” He heard her murmur as he jogged to catch up, “Did anyone spot you?”

“No, no, we’re fine. And he’s the same. He’s….” A second voice. Nordic accent, exhausted, pained and more than a little terrified, the way it was trembling.

Felwinter finally reached them. Two Nords, a badly injured man in the arms of a woman, who was covered in blood and Felwinter couldn’t even begin to guess whose it was. But what truly stood out was what they were wearing. Guard armor, similar to the uniforms worn by Whiterun’s, only instead of golden yellow sashes, these two wore light blue.

He took in the sight of two of them, thought of the likely and possibly severe consequences he would face should what he was being asked to do come to light and dropped to his knees. “What happened?”

The woman had one hand around the man’s shoulder and the other pressed on his stomach. “Sword wound from some of those damned Legionnaires that caught us off guard,” she spat, “I managed to close it up before we left but its opened again. It could be infec-”

Felwinter already had his hands up and held over the man’s wound. “It’s not. No poison. Clean, neat cut. That’s good.” The man grunted. Felwinter tore his eyes away from his task to look at him and only found the man staring back.

Then his entire body tensed. He had figured it out. Felwinter sighed, “Look, I need you to relax or you’ll make things worse. I’m not-”

Now his friend was staring at him. “I know you….I...you’re….” A beat passed and suddenly her now free, bloody hand flew towards her belt for the dagger tucked away.

“ _ZUN_ .” The force of the Shout made everyone around him flinch backwards and sent the dagger in hand flying away into the grass behind them. “You do not have time for this. Your friend is going to die if I don’t do this quickly, do you understand me?” He snapped, any patience for bedside manners long gone, “I am _not_ going to hurt you and I am not going to report you to anyone. Not to the guards, not to the Jarl and not to the Legion. So you will sit there, _be quiet_ and let me work. Danica, you have bandages right?”

“Of course.” She had quickly recovered from the effect of being so close to the Shout.

“I’m going to drain the wound and then repair the worst of the internal damage. The man’s clothing and the chainmail of his armor had already been discarded. Felwinter would need blood for this. The two soldiers, both weary enough to look older than they actually were, kept their eyes on him, following every single movement. He couldn’t risk a knife or a dagger without one or both of them panicking so he brought his up to his mouth. Felwinter closed his eyes as that was where the transformation always started. He suppressed as much of the transformation as he could and just allowed his teeth to grow out slightly and sharpen.

He pressed his hands together, drawing power from his own blood before placing his hands over the wound and let his magic flow unfettered into the man’s abdomen.

The other soldier kept her eyes on him. “You know we’re Stormcloaks.”

“Truly? And here I thought you were really light-skinned Redguard Corsairs.”

“Why are you helping us, Dragonborn?” She asked, “We know who you stand with.”

“I stand with myself.” The spell was pulling more from him than he had anticipated. Even in the cold night air, he was beginning to sweat. “External allegiances only last for as long as they remain useful.” He took away one hand to wipe sweat from his eye. “I’m helping you because I do as I please, regardless of what the Legion thinks.”

“It makes no sense.” The light from Felwinter’s magic shone softly upon her face, stark against the night. Dedicating your very life to a cause and watching as it is torn down little by little into nothing could break even the strongest person.

To be face to face with the man doing it?

“There. Start the binding.” Felwinter released the spell. To his credit, his shoulders hand only just started to shake. He sat back and let Danica move in, following her orders to help lift the Stormcloak and anything else she needed to do her job.

Finally, the Nord woman tore her eyes away from Felwinter to look down at the man before her and take him into her arms again. “He will live?”

“He will. But his fighting days are over.”

“I told you he would help,” Danica softly told the pair as she started another layer gauze around the man’s chest. “Where will you go from here? You can’t stay in Whiterun.”

“You’d also do well to avoid Eastmarch,” Felwinter advised.

“We’ll...we’ll find somewhere.” She took the man’s hand and squeezed it with a smile. Only now, without the distraction of a dying man before him could he see what was between them. She hooked her lover’s arm around her shoulders and helped him upright. “We have a horse nearby.”

The man suddenly stiffened and the both of them stopped. He reached out towards Felwinter with his free arm and after a few seconds, Felwinter took it in his own, clasping his forearm. “Thank you,” he told him, his voice barely rising above a strained whisper. His hand squeezed Felwinter’s arm even tighter. “Thank you.”

“I…” Felwinter swallowed, at a loss for words. “Of course. Don’t mention it.”

His partner turned them around more, “If there’s anyway we can ever repay you...”

“Don’t report me to Tullius?”

Both smiled. The man even managed a laugh. “We won’t,” she said, “We promise.”

* * *

“You know, when I promised them you would help, it had slipped my mind that you were with the Legion.” Danica broke the silence. The streets were practically empty, except for the roaming night guards. They mostly kept to the city meaning the Stormcloak pair should have little trouble escaping Whiterun without notice.

“You really thought I’d turn them in?”

She huffed out a short laugh. “I have to admit, the thought crossed my mind.” They reached the temple and Felwinter held the door open for her. “But you’ve really gone above and beyond today. We can’t thank you enough.”

Moth was there, waiting for him as promised. He stood when the two entered, strapping Samuel’s bow onto his uninjured shoulder. “This problem taken care of, I take it?”

“No ‘welcome back’?”

Moth shoved the flask into his chest. “It needs a refill.” He looked past Felwinter to Danica, who was starting to snuff out the candles. “Do you still need this one?”

She laughed again. “No, Thane Moth. He’s all yours. Kynareth bless you both. Have a good night.” She stopped next to Farkas. “I guess this one can stay here till the-”

“Oh for the love of….Farkas, I’m taking the last sweetroll!”

The big brute of Nord jerked violently, his eyes blown all the way open. He rolled off of the temple bed and landed hard on the stone tiles with a dull thud followed by seconds of silence and then a loud groan.

“Fel, why didn’t you do that earlier?”

“It wouldn’t have been nearly as funny.” Felwinter squat down, took hold of one of Farkas’ arms and pulled the warrior over his shoulder. “Come on, you big idiot.”

Farkas groaned again.

"Oh, shut up."

Moth nodded to Danica and closed the temple doors after they had exit. Through them, she could hear a third groan, louder this time and most likely right in Felwinter's ear followed by two voices arguing over whether or not they should just dump the man in the nearest bush and be done with him till morning and at that, Danica had to laugh. She shook her head and with a wave of her delicate hand, put out the last of the lights.


	27. Chapter Twenty Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felwinter never actually escaped Helgen with Hadvar. Ralof hasn’t appeared but he will. The Battle for Windhelm and the second to last chapter

With a heave, General Tullius pulled his blade from the Stormcloak’s abdomen and let her body fall limp to the ground. Windhelm was cold; not in the windy but sunny, tolerable way Solitude or Markarth were but biting and bone deep. And yet, even in this cold, the heat of battle had him drenched beneath his armor. Forget the injuries or the aches or strains, it was this bitter, frigid air that would make changing his clothes an ordeal.

But he would reach that point, he knew it. Because they were here, at the end of it all. The Palace of the Kings before him, the last vestiges of Ulfric’s army slain behind him. To his sides, his most trusted Legate and his least trusted but undeniably, most effective Legate. Above…

“Drakon, I ask again. Were the dragons really necessary?”

As if on cue, one roared as it flew overhead, shaking the ground beneath their feet even from its height. A green, sickly looking thing, as if it had been brought back from the dead. Felwinter laughed off the question, just as he did the last three times he had been asked. This would simply make for a better story for the Dragonborn and the other Legionnaires to tell when the battle was over. Of course, a dragon was not necessary. But two? Two were just overkill and according to Drakon, what better type of kill?

“The battle is over, Legate Felwinter,” Rikke muttered, her eyes locked on the Palace. “You can call them off. Please.”

Tullius could see the humor slowly drain from Drakon’s face. He knew something of her past with the men behind these doors. Some modicum of respect had developed between them throughout the campaign and if it meant Felwinter actually listened to at least one of them, Tullius couldn’t care less. The Dragonborn drew in a big, chest swelling breath and Shouted, “ _OH-DA-VIING!!! DUR-NEH-VIIR!!!_ ”

The undead dragon tipped in the air and nose dived. At the same time, a red blur shot over the far west wall. Both landed on opposite sides of the three, perched on the walls above them. “Alright, you two have had your fun. Now make yourselves scarce, you’re done here.”

The giant beasts roared again and kicked off into the air. Tullius couldn’t decide what was more of a shock, the fact that this man was giving orders to dragons or the fact that both just listened and obeyed. He shook his head. None of it mattered. It was time to end this.

Shifting the rebel’s body out of his way, General Tullius pulled open the door and was immediately greeted with a blast of marginally warmer air. He felt the tension leave his shoulders, but only slightly. No time to bask or warm his numb fingers by the fire. He has struggled and sacrificed for years to get here; time, resources, lives. Now he was facing down the man he had struggled to reach for so long was just a short walk away. “Lock the doors,” he ordered, “This won't take long.”

“Already done, sir.”

"Ulfric Stormcloak!” His voice resounded across the palace walls. “You are guilty of insurrection, murder of Imperial citizens, the assassination of King Torygg, and high treason against your Empire. It's over."

Ulfric said nothing. His eyes tracked the three Legionnaires as they crossed the threshold, betraying no rage, no grief, betraying nothing. They lingered on Felwinter. The Dragonborn of legend, the last son of Akatosh, the successor to the god his people fought, bled and died for and his brother student. It seemed so long ago that they stood side by side, prepared to die at the hands of their own puppet of an Empire.

But it wasn’t. Instead, it was so frighteningly recent. How the world can change with so little time.

At his feet, Galmar’s broad frame trembled. He shrugged off the fur cloak on his shoulders and rose to his full height, a head taller than even Felwinter and nearly twice as wide. Heaving up a battleaxe as tall as he was, he growled, “Not while I’m still breathing, it’s not.”

“Step aside, Galmar. We’re here for Ulfric’s surrender.” Rikke was managing to keep her tone neutral and professional. As much as one could while facing down their own former brothers in arms with their weapons drawn. Felwinter managed within himself a small prick of sympathy. Anymore would be asking too much of him. He had grown bored of this entire war a long time ago.

“Did our years of fighting mean nothing, Rikke?” Ulfric asked her, “Do you truly respect me so little as to demand I just stand down?”

“Helgen comes to mind, Stormcloak.” Even Felwinter found the sneer on Tullius’ face and the mockery in his voice astoundingly irritating.

No more than Ulfric, who shot to his feet. “I expected a trial! I expected so called Imperial fairness and diplomacy! Instead, me and my men get that mess at Helgen.” He started down the steps from his throne, “Imperial dogs. The Thalmor said jump and you couldn’t wait to dance for your scraps, could you?”

Ulfric turned his attention back to Felwinter, who was busying himself with counting the bricks on his ceiling and scowled. “Why are you here, Dragonborn?”

Felwinter started slightly when he realized he was being spoken to. “What? Oh! Because you attacked Whiterun.”

“...Because I attacked Whiterun? You kill my men, set two dragons on my city, terrorize my people and ruin everything we sacrificed for all because I attacked...Whiterun?”

“Yes. Exactly,” he answered without hesitation, “When a Dark Brotherhood assassin threatened my family, I didn't just kill her. I wiped her entire organization off the face of Skyrim. For what reason should I treat you any differently, Stormcloak? You and your rebellion are just another target to cross off my list.”

Galmar’s grip on his weapon tightened. The veins on his hand stood high like mountain ranges. “You dare compare us to gutless, honorless-”

“Why not, Galmar?” Felwinter turned on him. “Look at the state of your Hold before I ever got here. The Gray Quarter in shambles, the Dunmer and Argonians suffering regularly at the hands of your Nordic citizens, a murderer stalking the streets, preying on innocent women while your so-called leader did what? Murder their king, plot to take over Skyrim and then promptly kick them all out for not being ‘your people’.” Felwinter paused for a few seconds, running his hand through his beard, one of the two there not wearing a helmet. “I have no interest in seeing me and my family suffer mistreatment for not being Nords. At the same time, I have no interest in fighting for you and becoming one of your ‘special provincials’; not like all the other non-Nords. But at the end of the day, that is neither here nor there. You can imagine that I fight against you due to fundamental disagreement rather than petty revenge if it makes you feel better. I do not care.”

To his credit, Ulfric’s eyes and voice never wavered in the face of Felwinter’s vitriol. “And to think Ralof spoke so highly of you.”

That got his attention. Felwinter’s face darkened and the pupils of his eyes started to grow smaller. “Where is he?”

“None of your concern.”

“Is he alive?”

He truly had the gall to make demands. After all he’s done. “I said, none of your concern, Imperial dog!”

“Enough!” Tullius had finally run out of patience. “You are traitors and will die traitors’ deaths. Stand down and face public execution or advance and face summary execution by my hands.”

Ulfric’s eyes suddenly blew open; Felwinter’s only warning. Just because he managed to see something coming never meant he would be able to react in time. Still, with what little time he had, he managed to magically shove both Tullius and Rikke to the sides and in doing so, put himself in the face of the oncoming blast.

“ _FUS RO DAH!!!”_ Thunder roared off the walls as if the sky had been split. Felwinter felt as if the hand of Kynareth herself had come down and struck him for his many, many instances of blasphemy. His entire body lifted off the ground and he went flying clear across the palace’s great hall, from standing before the throne to landing in a great heap in front of the doors.

Galmar let out a ferocious war cry that Felwinter could hear from across the hall, even through the ringing in his ears. The Nord general charged Tullius while he was still on the ground. Rikke righted herself almost immediately and ran in to back up her general, leaving Ulfric to face the Dragonborn alone.

Axe drawn, Ulfric left the other two to Galmar while advancing on Felwinter, who was still untangling his limbs from his other limbs. His target had his back turned to him, rubbing his head. “Is that what that feels like? Gods...I’m starting to feel bad.”

“Dragonborn!”

“Eh? What?!” He turned only slightly, giving Ulfric a slightly better view of his face. He hadn’t seen it in Helgen but got a glimpse from the truce meeting, various reports that found their way onto his desk. The man was out of it. Not obviously but in a way one could feel. As if something was just always... _off_ around him.

He wasn’t fully human. If his recognition from the Greybeards or his defeat of the World Eater didn’t burn that in one’s mind, fighting him would.

“That was cheap move, Stormcloak,” he crowed, rising to his full height, “Thought you true Nords were above all that. I’m almost proud.”

“This is all one big game for you.” Ulfric reached around himself and hooked the shield on his back onto his arm.

“No game. But I’ll admit I’m having fun.” On Felwinter’s gauntlet, on the arm not clutching brutal looking bone-like sword with it’s edges sealed in refined ebony, a dark violet curved disk of magical hard light manifested out of nothing.

Ulfric couldn’t care less. He ran at the Dragonborn, raising his shield when Felwinter’s sword disappeared and charging through the gout of flame that sprayed from his now free palm. His axe hand came up and over Felwinter’s head, stopping short of cleaving his skull by his magical light shield, humming with the impact. Without hesitation, Ulfric pulled his weapon back and swiped across at Felwinter’s neck.

Felwinter ducked under and bashed his shield into Ulfric’s chest, sending him stumbling backwards. The sword reappeared and Ulfric barely managed to block what would have been a fatal blow to his exposed middle.

The Dragonborn gave him no time to recover or respond. Any time Ulfric managed to block one of Felwinter’s strikes, the sword was already taken back and swinging towards another body part. The relentlessness, the energy of Drakon’s strikes; he was enjoying this. Enjoying the pressure he put on him, enjoying the way Ulfric struggled to keep up. Enjoying how, despite all efforts, signs of exhaustion began to creep into Ulfric’s features. With every strike, Ulfric’s movements became more and more desperate and the Dragonborn reveled in it.

All the stories he had been told as a child about the Dragonborn. All the legends and songs he heard. Not once did he imagine he’d meet him, much less fight him.

Much less die by his hand.

He needed air. Ulfric pulled in another chest filling breath. If Felwinter saw it coming before, he’d see it again and even if he managed to avoid the blast, it would put some distance between the two. Ulfric formed the words. He felt his chest burn and strain with the force of the blast and the world shifting in response to his command.

The Dragonborn Shouted first, his body practically lifting up and darting to the side at blinding speed, outside of Ulfric’s vision, just narrowly managing to avoid the Unrelenting Force. Ulfric twisted around immediately to find him. He heard the Dragonborn Shout again. The same word that moved Felwinter out of the way with the speed of the wind brought him back and Ulfric only managed to lay eyes on him for a mere moment before an armor clad fist collided with the side of his face.

It was Ulfric’s turn to be sent flying. He landed hard on the banquet table, ignoring the blinding pain and the feel of bones snapping in his chest and kept rolling until he was on the floor again. It was only through a miracle that he managed to keep hold of his weapon. He staggered to his feet again to see Felwinter leaping off the table with his sword coming down.

All Ulfric had suffered, all Ulfric had sacrificed and this was how it ended. He had hoped, at the very least he would go down in a fight. One worth dying for and maybe, hopefully, even singing about for years to come.

This was none of that. Maybe he was the Dragonborn’s equal in martial skill but when it came to magic or the Thu’um, Drakon was unparalleled by anyone in the city, let alone in this throne room. No one would sing of this. Or maybe they would, in the years to come because this wasn’t a fight; this was a beating.

But still, something drove him. Drove him to raise his shield, block the blow and shove Felwinter back. Drove him to strike out with his own weapon, catching on Felwinter’s magical shield. Drove him to keep fighting the inevitable. Maybe it for his men, rotting in the snow outside. Or Galmar, whose battle cries could be heard even over the blood roaring in Ulfric’s ears. Maybe it was hope that despite it’s one sidedness, this would fight make him worthy to enter Sovngarde.

Or maybe, just maybe, it was out of spite.

Galmar’’s ferocious yells, punctuating every swing of his weapon suddenly rang out, sharp and filled with agony. Ulfric looked over at his friend just in time to see him grab Tullius by his armored shoulders and drive his forehead into his face, spraying both of them with the blood of a shattered nose. When Tullius staggered back, Ulfric saw it. Tullius’ blade lodged deep in Galmar’s belly.

“Galmar!!!” Ulfric roared. His general drove a fist into Rikke’s face, sending her sprawling. He grabbed Tullius’ sword by the hilt and ripped it from his stomach. Then he staggered back, his shoulders going slack and his legs trembling. He dropped to one knee, propped up on his axe for support.

Ulfric shoved Felwinter back, his sudden burst of strength throwing the Dragonborn off balance. Ulfric didn’t care to press his advantage. Within seconds, he crossed the hall back to his throne and put himself between his shield brother and the Legionnaires, a Shout already on his lips for if they even so much as appeared to consider moving closer.

“My Jarl,” Galmar moaned, grunting when his second knee hit the ground.

“Get up, Galmar. The fight’s not done.” Tullius and Rikke kept their distance while Felwinter took his time rejoining the group, strolling his way back to the throne, none of the strain or exhaustion Ulfric felt from their battle.

“Ulfric. Brother.” This was the quietest he had ever heard the man. “I’m sorry.”

“Shut up.”

“I’ve failed you. For the last time, it seems.” A pained, weak chuckle.

“I said shut up, Galmar!”

Armor clinked against the sculpted rock of his chair. The sound of Galmar’s axe hitting the ground with a loud clang pierced him like a spike through the head.

“I have no regrets, Ulfric,” Galmar whispered, his breath rasping. “None. None at all. None...”

“Galmar?” No answer. The silence stretched horrifically long. Ulfric tore his eyes from his enemies to look behind him. Galmar remained limp against the throne, his hand on laid across his abdomen and his lidded, empty eyes staring off into the distance. “Galmar?!” Ulfric’s deep, resonant voice was panicked, shrill.

_No, no, no..._

His hand tightened on his weapon to the point of trembling. He was going to kill them all. Ulfric no longer cared if it costed him his life, as long as they came with him and spent the rest of eternity rotting in the darkest pits of Oblivion. He swung back around, a Shout already leaving his lips, pushing enough force and focus into the words to blow them to pieces. To blow this entire building to pieces.

A fist connected with the side of Ulfric’s face, knocking the wind and power from his lungs and dropping him against his throne. He coughed and spit up blood.

“Apologies. You were taking too long.” Felwinter stood over the Jarl, prepared to strike him down again if need be. “If you’re done with the the theatrics, it’s time we finished this.”

“It’s over, Stormcloak.” Felwinter stifled a laugh at the nasal sound of a broken nosed Tullius attempting to sound threatening, “Any last requests?”

Ulfric coughed again, pushing himself up on trembling arms. He was tired. So very tired. To the point where he didn’t feel gut rending fear for the impending or an abject sense of shame for his failure.

He was just tired. He wanted this to be over. He wanted to sleep.

“Let the Dragonborn do it. It will make for a better song.”

Ulfric couldn’t deny taking slight enjoyment out of the way Tullius’ face twisted. “Why?” He demanded.

Ulfric didn’t want to give a reason. Did Tullius have so little integrity as to deny him even this? Helgen told him yes. But still he said, “You never would have won this without him. Our men would have just kept railing against each other until sooner or later, one of us made our final mistake.” He lifted his head to look the general in his eyes, “Let the man who won this war finish the job.”

Felwinter. He remembered the day Ralof arrived in Windhelm and informed him, finally learning the name of that poor, innocent sap who had been caught up in this mess. A strange name, he had said. Ralof has said he had been born in the month of Frostfall, a play on words by his mother. Helgen had been in Frostfall; two years ago next week.

For the first time since walking into the city, Felwinter actually seemed serious. His eyes ran over Ulfric’s face. He turned to the general, “I take it you were hoping to do the deed?”

“As a matter of fact, Drakon, I was. And I see absolutely no reason to grant this _murderer_ any final request,” Tullius sneered at the rebel leader, the hand on his sword tightening.

Ulfric had always prided himself on reading people, discovering the truth from their words in their actions. The Dragonborn sounded so convincingly sincere and innocent when he asked that question that even when Tullius was speaking to him, prepared to deny him his last wish, advance and cut him down, Ulfric never took his eyes off of Felwinter. Not even for a second.

His only warning was a shift in his stance. A twitch in his arm.

Then, pitch black.

Ulfric wasn’t in pain as he had expected. The darkness seemed to numb all. But he was confused and as he stood drifting, he felt more than a little lost.

“Drakon? Rikke?” Ulfric’s calls echoed out into the nothing. Nothing save an echo was what he got back.

“Galmar? Galmar!” The only answer was the void simply returning his voice.

The confusion drained away. So this was it. This was what awaited them all at the end of all things. Ulfric started to trudge forward, determined to keep putting one foot before the other into a wall of darkness that stretched forever.

But then the darkness began to brighten. Underneath his feet, he could hear the crunch of soft grass. Warm mists rose ups and sapped the exhaustion and fear from his bones until there was none left.

He didn’t know this place but...he did. He kept on his slow but strong march, energy and vigor returning to his limbs after months of spending all of his strength just to keep standing. He was still tired, yes, but forward, through the mists he went. Forward, there was somewhere he could rest his head.

A mead hall bigger than the palace he lived and died in with a bridge of bones leading to its doors and two men. One man, larger than life standing at its foot of the bridge and waiting to let him cross and the other, arriving just a bit earlier, refusing to cross into the paradise he spent his life fighting for until Ulfric was at his side.

How they had started this was how they would finish.

* * *

The silence was deafening. Even Felwinter, for once, was quiet; no smart quip, no remark on his own boredom. Rikke could almost say that he was as serious about this as she was.

Almost. He hadn’t fought at the side of these men. This was just another problem with the world he needed to fix before he moved on to the next.

She...she should say something. She wasn’t the inspiring orator the general or even Ulfric himself was but they were her friends and whatever they did, their reasons were just and ultimately well meaning. She could be wrong. Ulfric Stormcloak could have been just as murderous and power hungry as many said and believed but she had never been one of them. They were good men and they deserved better than whatever flippancy Tullius or Felwinter would offer.

But only a few words came to mind.

“Talos be with you both, brothers.”

“What was that, Legate?”

She scowled. She should’ve known he wouldn’t let her have this. On some level she did and she had said it anyway. One small act of rebellion after years of dutiful service.

Still she cleared her throat, “Ah, nothing, si-”

“She gave them a final prayer,” Felwinter interrupted. “Legionnaires are allowed do that, yes? Because if not, you might want to go ahead and court martial me right now-”

“I have a million _other_ reasons to court martial you, Drakon!” Tullius snarled, “Do not forget, while you are in this Legion, _Legate_ Felwinter, you are under my command.” He pointed to the two bodies lying at the seat of Windhelm’s throne, “And I want these two prepared for transport back to Cyrodiil by tomorrow.”

Felwinter scowled. “What in Oblivion for?”

“Elenwen’s orders.” Felwinter’s scowl deepened. “A victory march through the capital with these two on display.”

Felwinter’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief. Rikke felt she was going to be sick right there on the stone floor. “General…” she sputtered, “You...you can’t be serious!”

To her side, she heard Felwinter cover up a sneeze with his hands.

“I very much am, Legate.”

“I know how you feel about them but these men have been through enough,” she argued, losing her care for propriety, “To do this is just...just cruel and it’s wrong and...”

“It is _orders_ , Legate!” Tullius snapped back, matching her volume. “If it was up to me, I’d dump these two traitors in the nearest ditch and be done with them. But it is not!”

Felwinter sneezed again, loud of enough to startle the bickering soldiers. “By the Eight, Drakon! What is wrong with you?”

Felwinter squeezed his nose and shook his head, as if trying to clear it. “Apologies. Something’s making me allergies act up all of a sudden.”

“Allergies? You don’t have al-”

Tullius didn’t get a chance to finish. Because Felwinter began to reel back. He spit out a rather violent, forceful sneeze. At the same time, there was a flash of hot light, a resounding boom and suddenly Ulfric’s and Galmar’s bodies went up in blistering blue flames.

Tullius recovered from his reeling first. “Drakon, what have you done?!” He roared, his face ash yam red with veins protruding along his temples.

“It’s my allergies! It happens someti...ti…” He let out another roar of a sneeze and the flames burning Ulfric and Galmar’s bodies jumped to touch the ceiling.

Tullius’ chest and shoulders were heaving as he watched the bodies burn and char within the hot flames and Rikke braced herself for what was about to come. As much as she... _did not_ agree with his actions, he had taken things too far. This kind of blatant insubordination, especially with someone as high ranked as him could warrant death and the Dragonborn would never come quietly.

But as she watched him, Tullius watched the flames. Slowly, his shoulders fell and his breathing slowed. He tore his eyes from the burning bodies and turned to Felwinter, who looked about as innocent as a confessed thief in chains. Tullius stared at him silently for another few heartbeats before saying quietly, “I fought in the Great War, you know. Went against some of the best Thalmor battlemages on the battlefield.Surviving them was enough to make a name for myself. Beating them was nothing less than divine providence. The one constant; the corpses of their victims were never pretty.” He sighed and straightened up, “It seems Elenwen is just going to have to deal with that.”

Just like that the flames slowly began to fall and wither. Tullius watched for a few more seconds before turning away. “The men will be expecting some kind of speech, I guess. If you’ll both come with me.”

He started towards the door. The flames sputtered out the last of their energy before fading entirely with nothing but soot and ash to mark where it had lived. Once again, Rikke was at a loss for words. So she just nodded at him once, hoping he would accept her sincerest gratitude.

He sniffed, rubbed his nose and after a few seconds, nodded back. She watched as he made his way to the door, paused, took out a handkerchief, blew into it loudly and mutter some oath about Windhelm before continuing on his way.

* * *

 

****“Yeah, so we’re just wrapping up here,” Felwinter said, tying his belt on, “But the war’s pretty much over.”

“About time.” Moth’s voice buzzed the crystal around Felwinter’s neck, warm sitting against his chest. He and the kids had moved themselves to Solitude, where Felwinter would have to return to celebrate the ending of the war.

He hadn’t expected yesterday to take the turn that it did. Something about Ulfric’s words, his behaviors in his final moments put Felwinter off for the rest of yesterday and troubled him in his sleep all through the night.

Guilt, maybe but the idea made no sense. Why should he feel guilt? Ulfric Stormcloak declared war on Felwinter personally when he made plans to attack Whiterun and Ulfric Stormcloak lost. Feeling sorry for the bastard wouldn’t change how Ulfric had started it and how Felwinter had ended it.

Felwinter pulled a shirt on, then a second and resisted the temptation to wrap up in a third before sitting on the bed before the fire to pull on his boots. Except things had changed. Or at least, deviated from the plan Felwinter had set in mind before then.

The killing blow was always going to be quick. Quick _and_ painless had been spur of the moment. And originally, he cared little for what was done to the bodies but after hearing what Elenwen wanted with them….

He really was going to kill that woman. Somehow some way, Elenwen was not going to outlive him.

“Aye! Drakon!”

“What? Yeah, sorry,” he said quickly, “Spaced out for a bit. Anyway, I’ll be here in this...cold, frigid, miserable plane of Oblivion for a few more days. Then Tullius will march back to Solitude while I take the less scenic route.”

Felwinter smiled when the Orc yawned over the transmission. “Sounds like a plan.”

“Probably because it was.”

“Shut up.” Moth yawned again and let out a small growl as he stretched the sleep from his limbs. “So, the Bear of Markarth is dead. I assume you dealt the final blow. How’d he go out?”

“Quickly,” he said, suddenly and uncharacteristically quiet, “Made it as painless and immediate as possible.” He stood again and started to search for some kind of overcoat or cloak, “Had to char the bodies with sun magic after. Elenwen had ordered Tullius to transport the bodies to Cyrodiil, where they would have been paraded through the streets of the capital.”

Moth growled again, angry this time, “In what way would that necessary?”

“Nothing more display of power. A reminder to any potential rebel.”

“A cock waving parade.”

Felwinter barked out a laugh. “You really are worse than me.” The men said their goodbyes and the crystal cooled when the connection was severed. Felwinter pushed open the doors and made his way into the main hall of the palace and out the door, refusing to look even in the general direction of Windhelm’s throne.

The city itself hadn’t changed since Felwinter had last been here. Over a year ago, after Helgen, after meeting the Greybeards and retrieving their horn from Delphine. He had met Alduin for the first time and realized how grossly outmatched he had been by the old Dovah. So, finally heeding the advice of nearly every court mage, healer and alchemist he came across, Felwinter made his way to the College of Winterhold.

What was supposed to have been just a night’s rest stop had suddenly found itself stretching out for well over a week. A week in which Felwinter found a child siccing assassins on the caretaker of his orphanage, helped some elderly alchemist fulfill his lifelong wish just days before he passed, stopped some deranged murderer among other things. And he did this all while ensuring that neither Tullius or Ulfric ever knew he was in the city. When it was finally time for him to leave, he had already decided that only the most exceptional of circumstances would bring him back.

It was for the best that he had returned. Connecting a portal between his homes and the College had proven itself challenging, what with all the ambient, antagonistic residual magic in the air as well as a higher chance of its discovery. Buying a house in Windhelm seemed the next best option and with the city firmly under Empire control, it had become a more feasible one.

The steward would be too busy for him, juggling all the menial but plentiful tasks required for a relatively peaceful transition of power. The more aggressive tasks of keeping order during such a potentially violent period of unrest would fall to the remaining Legion soldiers, the stationed Legate (Felwinter went through great pains to ensure that it was _not_ him) and new Jarl, who he should probably find at some point.

Felwinter barely had time to even decide where to start when a large pair of arms wrapped themselves around his waist and lifted him off the ground as if he weighed nothing, a deep voice booming with greeting. If there was any other reason to return to this glacier of a city, it was this old man. It had been two years since they had last so much as spoken and here Brunwulf Free-Winter was, greeting him like long lost family. When someone jumps alongside you into fist fight against a group of Dunmer harassing Nords, they might as well be.

“By the gods, Felwinter, look at you!” Brunwulf finally put him down and let him turn to embrace him properly, “Two years and you can’t even be bothered to announce yourself?”

“Announce? Were the dragons not enough?” Felwinter pulled back and gestured to the sky.

“You didn’t have dragons stashed away in your pocket the last time you were here, fool.”

Brunwulf hadn’t changed in the slightest over the last two years. Same shaved head, same bushy grey beard, same imposing, soldierly stature. Trailing him were two Legionnaires, shields in hands and constantly scanning the area surrounding them for possible threats on his life, part of the aggressive tasks of keeping the peace.

Felwinter wasn’t in the mood to be trailed while he was trying to catch up with his friend. “You men can go. I can take over babysitting from here,” he ordered, waving them off and just barely avoiding a swipe to the head. He had honestly expected some form of resistance but the two soldiers looked relieved and even a little bit grateful. If they had participated in the battle yesterday, Felwinter couldn’t blame them for wanting to actually sit down for a little while.

“So before anything else, I need to hear it from your mouth,” Brunwulf started once they were left alone, “Are you the Dragonborn?”

“Yep.” Felwinter ordinarily wouldn’t have let that information drop so easily before but news spread quickly after the truce meeting.

“ _The_ Dragonborn? As in ‘Talos’?”

“And Alessia and Reman, yes.”

“So all that time ago, when the Greybeards summoned the Dovahkiin to High Hrothgar? They were calling for your you?”

“I almost forgot that every single person in Skyrim heard that,” he snorted. It had been at night too. Such a thing to be woken up by.

Felwinter started down the path he had been on earlier and Brunwulf instinctively followed, still lost in his own head, trying to come to terms with the revelation.

Then he shook his head, put his hand out on Felwinter’s shoulder and stopped him. “You and I _really_ need to talk, Drakon.” He jerked his head in the direction behind them, back towards the Gray Quarter, “It’s early but New Gnisis should be open.”

“You paying?”

Brunwulf clapped him on the shoulder and guffawed. Felwinter watched him start on his way. “Is that a yes?!” he called to the Nord’s retreating back. The only answer he got himself was another hearty, gut busting laugh.

* * *

“So in the time since you were last here.” He paused to scarf down yet another loaf of stew soaked bread, already on his third before Felwinter could get through his first, “You enrolled in the College, saved the College, got married, didn’t invite me…”

“You always seemed the type to cry at weddings, I didn’t want there to be a scene.”

Brunwulf flicked one of his larger breadcrumbs up into Felwinter’s hair. “Adopted children, slayed the World Eater himself, got yourself arrested and put into an inescapable prison mine, broke out of said mine…”

“Met my father.”

“Met your father, yes.” He drained a cup of water, “How’d that go?”

“Messed up his nose. Probably forever.”

“Well done.”

New Gnisis was relatively empty, Felwinter and Brunwulf being the only humans there, with a smattering of Dark Elves both at the bar and at the tables. Despite the quiet, the atmosphere was undeniably one of celebration. Ulfric was dead, the Stormcloak rebellion ended and the one person in the city known for going above and beyond simply for their sake was to be made their new ruler.

Years of misfortune turned around in a single day with even better to come and the two men primarily responsible were patrons, tucked away in their own little corner of the club.

“I expected it to be...I don’t know, louder,” Felwinter said, draining half his tankard, “And I’m surprised you wanted to come here of all places. The owner...” he gestured to the rail thin Dunmer man at the bar.

Brunwulf looked in the direction he was indicating. “Ambarys Rendar,” he answered.

“Rendar. His views on Nords aren’t much different than they have of him.” The normally surly and snappish man was gone, at least for the day. This man’s disposition was completely different, wiping a mug with youthful vigor and whistling a tune Felwinter recalled from his time in Cyrodiil. ‘Nerevar’s Rising’, this Dunmer shopkeeper had answered when she asked; the story of a Dunmer hero born of both past and farther past. Felwinter never understood how a song without words could tell such a tale until then and ever since, he would find himself pausing in whatever he was doing just to listen.

“Subjugation and harassment will do that, you know,” Brunwulf pointed out.

“I don’t like the Thalmor but that doesn’t mean I would start treating every Altmer I come across like they’re one of them.”

Brunwulf shrugged. “Maybe, but I didn’t come here to listen to him go on about how much he dislikes my people. I came here to keep the peace.”

“What do you mean?”

The old Nord sighed and slid his empty plate to the side, clasping his hands together on the table. “A lot of people are _not_ happy, Felwinter. Many were adamant Stormcloak supporters and Talos worshippers. Your victory yesterday dashed any lingering hopes they had of being free of Imperial and Thalmor influence. They’re angry and my main concern is that some will take their anger out on others. The Legion have weapons, numbers and temporary martial law. No one short of masochistic and suicidal would dare make an attempt on your life.”

“Thank you!”

“So that leaves the Dunmer and the Argonians.” Ambarys suddenly appeared at their table and Brunwulf nodded to the chipper old Mer as he took their dishes. “I already have soldiers at the lodge and I came here myself in the hopes of deterring would be aggressors.”

“Galmar had a brother, didn’t he?” Felwinter asked him.

“Yes, Rolff. He disappeared sometime before the siege.” Brunwulf shook his head, “He’s someone I especially wanted an eye kept on.”

“Want me to track him down then?”

Brunwulf stood. “Don’t bother. Man’s harmless.” They paid at the bar, even he insistent protest of the owner and Felwinter’s subtle agreement and left, out into the cold again. Eager to finally make good on his promises, Brunwulf wanted to tour the Quarter, see where renovations can first be made and where additions can be started, space for the Argonians to eventually move in.

“Hey, Arentino. How is he?” Felwinter asked, remembering he had requested Free-Winter watch out for him, ensure he didn’t go summoning assassins on anyone else.

“Ah, that boy.” He shook his head, a small bit warm smile hidden under his beard. “Such a free spirit, smarter than smart. Enjoys pestering Sofie way too much.”

“Sofie?”

“Yes, she was this little orphan girl. Showed up a month after you left, sold flowers just to make enough money to eat.” His eyes turned to the snow covered stone beneath their feet, “Mother died when she was young. Father was a Stormcloak who was deployed and simply never returned.” He sighed, “I had been taking care of them, feeding them, clothing them that I decided, around last year, to go ahead and adopt them.”

“Adopt? As in ‘adopt’ adopt?”

“Is there another, my friend?” He asked, “They’re over in Dawnstar for the time being. I’m good friends with the new Jarl. When they come back, I’ll be adding ‘teach Sofie to lead’ onto the list of things I have on my plate. As the older of the two and now my daughter, she’s slated to take my place as Jarl.”

“It’s strange, you know,” Brunwulf continued wistfully, “I never imagined myself as a parent. It’s strange to be called....you know, father.”

“But it’s nice, right? Pulling them out of a bad situation, making them feel loved like they deserve.” Felwinter sighed and an a hand through his hair. He really wanted to return home, see them again. He would speak to Rikke, see if there was anything else he was needed for. From the looks of things, there wasn’t. Windhelm was quickly returning to normal repairs had already started, bodies were being removed. “A lot less dead than I thought there would be.”

“Hmm? Ah yes. Your dragons, they...I just remembered that dragons had names.”

“The red one is Odahviing,” Felwinter responded, “Green is Durnehviir.”

“Well those two made a lot of rebels surrender. Men, they can fight, even if its a losing battle. Dying to those two monsters, no offense, I guess. Since you’re apparently friends with them now.”

“They’d both take that as a compliment.”

“Dying to those monsters, it was just asking too much.” Brunwulf suddenly stopped, glaring behind Felwinter, back at the Palace of Kings.

In a crowd before the palace were a large group of rebels. Around twenty or twenty five, all stripped of weapons and helmets, arms chained behind their backs and ushered inside slowly, one after another by Legion soldiers. “They the ones who surrender?” Felwinter questioned softly but with a definite edge to his tone. The looks on some of their faces. Broken was the only word he could think to describe it. Any other seemed was just useless underestimation. His chest started hurting again and he rubbed at it absentmindedly.

Brunwulf stepped up next to him. “Aye. After the information the General received from that... _Thalmor_ woman.” He spat the word like bile. Rebel, loyalist, Elf. Only the Thalmor liked the Thalmor. “Even I wish they had died in that battle. Poor sods.”

Felwinter turned on him. “What information, Brunwulf?.”

“Every Stormcloak rebel found are to be taken in alive and imprisoned,” he told him, “In a few months time, they are all to be transported to Solitude. They will be executed there. Publically.”

Felwinter couldn’t tell whether it was soul deep revulsion or sheer anger that made his stomach tighten and cramp but it took a serious measure of effort to keep his food from coming back up and browning the snow. He could feel his heartbeat in his skull. He could hear his own breathing loud in the commotion of the city.

Helgen. What was this woman’s obsession with _Helgen_? There must have been some reasoning behind her wanton, malicious obsession with public killings. Politics? A show of power? Or was her head so far up her own organization’s onanistic propaganda that this was all just a game to her?

Brunwulf looked over his friend. It was terrifying seeing such an excitable and optimistic man go from cheerful and bright to stinking of unbridled rage in such a short amount of time. “Felwinter, what did you expect?”

“Not this!” He exploded, loud enough through clenched teeth to draw attention. “This...this is monstrous! This-

“Was always the endpoint, sword-brother.”

“It’s not right.”

“No part of this damnable war is. Not what led up to it, not how it started and now how it has been conducted,” Brunwulf said. He reached out to squeeze his friend’s shoulder again, “Head to Hjerim, Felwinter, just like we discussed. I will retrieve the key to the house and you can pay the steward later. I know you’re good for it.”

After some time, Felwinter finally turned from the crowd of prisoners and stalked off, leaving Brunwulf without another word. He wrapped his hand around the crystal necklace hanging down the center of his chest but stopped before it could connect to Moth. He’d wait until he was alone in Hjerim, setting up the portal. It seemed he would not be sleeping restfully either. No, it seemed that this war, even over and done, would haunt his dreams tonight.

A line of bound Stormcloaks. One by one to kneel before the headsman’s axe. Before, he had stood beside them. Watched his own death creep closer and closer with every head that rolled. Now, he would be forced to stand alongside the likes of Tullius and Elenwen, oversee the execution, watch the terror and hate rise in the rebel faces as they advanced to the block and _gloat_.

Would those Stormcloak lovers be there? Would Avulstein? Was he prepared to deal with the fact that he put Thorald and Ralof back in chains and under the Imperial axe again.

He ended the war. He kept the Empire from fracturing even more, he removed a future tyrant and still, Felwinter looked back on his behavior the previous day, his flippancy and nonchalance and for the first time felt...wrong. He did the right thing. He knows he did and yet…

Felwinter dropped to the freezing ground and leaned against Hjerim’s door. He sighed wearily and ran fingers through this hair. Revenge was no longer worth it.

* * *

The fire spit and crackled, ear-splittingly loud in the silence of the dense woods. Made it hard to keep his ears to the edges, to the dark ring of trees surrounding his campsite.

Some things could be heard before. Celebrations off in the distance. Conversations from people passing by. News spread like a blaze.

The rebellion was defeated. Ulfric Stormcloak was dead. Galmar Stone-Fist was dead.

Galmar was dead.

His brother was _dead_.

The air rushed audibly in and out of Rolff’s nose as he struggled to keep tears from falling, to keep from crying out, from raging at the empty air. He failed. A strangled, anguished sob tore itself loose from his throat and he clamped a hand over his mouth to keep quiet.

His brother had known this was coming. He had given him a pack a week before and told him to get to the Falkreath border and leave Skyrim by any means necessary. Rolff refused at first. He should be here fighting and dying by his side, for Windhelm, for Skyrim. But Galmar would hear no argument.

Rolff accused Galmar of thinking him a weakling, a coward. It was born of hurt and denial because he would be right. Rolff wasn’t very smart. He was never much of a fighter. All he ever did was harass those ash-skinned freaks and put more complaints on Ulfric’s desk. He said that Galmar considered Ulfric more of a brother than he did him.

Such a stoic and harsh man, his older brother had been. Joy, grief, one rarely saw much of anything resembling emotion on his scarred and weathered face. When Rolff said what he said, he expected anger. Maybe even to be struck. Galmar did nothing. He just stared at him, with that haunted, sorrowful look of a man who knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was about to die. The eternal peace and merriment of Sovngarde could only bring so much comfort.

After a long time, he said that it is true, he was willing to die by Ulfric’s side. He always has been. But he dragged Rolff into this rebellion and even with all his devotion to their cause, Rolff’s death was asking too much.

Ulfric could ask for the world and Galmar would give it to him happily. Rolff was simply worth much more than that.

It was a lie. _A lie._ He was worth _nothing_. Nothing to nobody. Not anymore.

The Dragonborn was a hero to him as a child. A legend to look up to, to emulate. Now, his “hero” has taken everything from him. The life he knew, the home he knew was gone, maybe forever.

He really was going to kill that man. Somehow some way, Felwinter Drakon was not going to outlive him.

Rolff’s fingers dug into the soft dirt beneath him and squeezed, tiny sharp rocks stabbing into him, cutting skin. It would be slow, agonizing, Rolff would do everything in his power to make sure the Dragonborn lived long enough for him to get his fill. He’d make everyone he loved watch, watch him beg for forgiveness, for a non-existent mercy. Reduce him to a husk of a man right before he finally slid the rustiest, bluntest blade he could find deep into his throat and watched the blood drip down the sides of his mouth and the light and hope slowly leave his eyes.

It is dishonorable, his brother would say. Leave those sick, twisted games for the Thalmor. We are Nords, this is not right, this is not our way!

“Our way is dead!” Rolff roared to the moons. He stared up as if expecting them or anyone to answerback. Little by little, the dirt and rocks fell from his loosening grip as his euphoric bout of wishful thinking fell away and reality set back in. “You’re dead. _You’re dead._ ”

Maybe he should be too.

What was there for him outside of Skyrim? High Rock and Cyrodiil were both loyal to the Empire through and through. Hammerfell just was not the place for him. He’d save himself and some starving animal a lot of trouble if he’d just-

Movement. Behind the trees. Too heavy to be an accident. All thoughts of death suddenly left Rolff’s head as he bolted upright, drawing the one steel blade his brother had left him with. Legionnaires would be acceptable. Even filthy wild animals would be more acceptable than falling to petty, insignificant cutthroats.

The edge of the trees where the sound came from remained as silent as before. Rolff cautiously stepped closer to the edge, swearing he could see something. Something red.

Something like eyes.

He bolted backwards, losing his balance and falling down. When he scrambled back to his feet again, sword raised and ready, the eyes were gone.

Rolff’s head and heart were pounding. He didn’t dare relax, twisting around again and again, panickedly trying to keep track of all angles. “Show yourself!” He roared. His rough, strangled voice echoed into the night sky. Far away, a pack of wolves howled in response.

He stood in place for a long time before finally letting his shoulders go limp. He turned back to the fire and tensed up once again. There, at his campfire, sat a man. A lean, dark haired Dunmer with red eyes.

The Dunmer wasn’t paying him any attention whatsoever, more preoccupied with opening the large clay bottle in his hands than the man with a sword whose grief he was intruding on. After a long time, the Dunmer looked sideways at him. “Relax, friend. I’m no threat to you.”

“I am friend to no Mer,” Rolff snapped, almost on instinct. “And you need to leave.”

The bottle popped open and the Dunmer let out a quiet victorious sound. He raised it in Rolff’s direction. “To enemies, then!” He put it to his lips and drank. When he had been satisfied, he tossed the bottle behind him, where it shattered. “Come on. Take a seat,” he insisted in an easy, smooth tone. “Not everyday one gets to share a campfire in peace with their enemy.”

To his own surprise, Rolff did sit, keeping the fire between them. The Dunmer smiled, the firelight sharpening the angles of his face, making him appear like something out of a fever dream. “You look down, enemy. Wish to talk about it?”

“No.”

“It might make you feel better.”

“I don’t care about feeling better, gray skin. I just want to be left alone.”

The Dunmer chortled. “Ah, it must’ve been something really bad. See? We’re already getting somewhere!”

Rolff’s blade was in his hand again. He stood and pointed the tip at the Dunmer. “You need to leave, gray-skin. I won’t tell you again.”

The Dunmer laughed heartily, not even looking at the blade in his face. “That! That’s the fire we’re looking for! For a second, you actually made me believe you could actually hurt me. Almost made me regret coming here unarmed.”

Rolff readjusted his sweaty grip, suddenly feeling eyes in the dark boring into his back. “‘We’? Who in the name of the gods is ‘we’?”

“Take a seat, Rolff Stone-Fist.” The Dunmer gestured to the ground.

“No. How do you know my name? Who are you?!”

The Dunmer shrugged. “If it’ll calm you down.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his bony knees, staring into the flames. “I...represent a very select group of individuals in the service of an extremely powerful and influential lord. And as I said, you’re just the sort of man he’s been looking for.”

“Oh? And what is it that he wants?”

The Dunmer leaned close. “Felwinter Drakon’s head.”

Rolff’s arm began to relax, the sword slowly lowering back to his side. A minute of silence passed, with Rolff searching the Mer’s face for even the slightest sign of deceit and the Mer seeming too happy to be searched. Finally, Rolff sat back down, placing the sword at his side.

“You’ve heard the news, I trust?” The Dunmer affected a more serious and somber tone. “Windhelm has fallen. Ulfric and his second-”

“Are dead,” Rolff cut him off harshly. His fingers tightened in the dirt, “I know.”

“My comfort for your loss, enemy.” Rolff nearly believed him. “You really loved him, didn’t you?”

His fingers tightened again to the point of strain. “More than anything.”

“It’s strange, you know,” The Dunmer went on wistfully, “Drakon. He’s a man that’s seen a lot, been through a lot. Suffered so much loss and heartbreak. And yet he cares so little about the lives he takes. He deludes himself into thinking that it’s okay because they do not fit his definition of innocent but every life is a story. Every life taken is a story cut short.”

“Even I know some of them deserved whatever they got,” Rolff remarked, surprised at himself for defending that man even in the slightest.

“Maybe,” the Dunmer admitted, “But who deserves what tends to be a rather...subjective topic. An example; I watched from afar, Whiterun after the death of the previous Harbinger. I focused on the Companions, particularly the Inner Circle, go about their lives in the wake of this...tragedy. And Felwinter?” He put his hand over the crackling fire, “The man was despondent. He didn’t leave Whiterun for weeks. He could barely finish a meal or sleep through a night. Kodlak Whitemane’s death truly broke the man to pieces and it took a very long time for him to pull himself together. Kodlak. Do you feel he deserved it?”

“No,” Rolff answered, “No, I imagine not.”

“And yet, if Felwinter and the other members of the Circle hadn’t gone after the Silver Hand so often, they never would have been angered enough to assault Whiterun,” he rejoined, “If Felwinter hadn’t been away, wantonly taking lives elsewhere, he may have been around to save the old Nord’s life.” The Dunmer straightened up again, leaning back into the partial shadows. “Fault is subjective. Who is ultimately to blame for Kodlak’s death? The Silver Hand for trying to clear Hircine’s curse from their lands or Felwinter, for bringing attention to the Companions in the first place?”

When Rolff didn’t answer, the Dunmer leaned in again. “Who is to blame for your brother’s death? Ulfric and your brother himself for defending what they believed in or Felwinter, who knows nothing about what the men and women of the rebellion are fighting for and cares even less. Deaths only matter when it’s close to him.”

“How do you know so much about him?”

The Dunmer laughed. “Oh, I don’t! I just know about Kodlak’s death.” He sobered up again, frighteningly quick. “Hopes and dreams dashed. He ruined the Reachmen’s chances to take back their home, he killed Skyrim’s final chance for freedom. That man cuts and blasts his way through people's’ lives without a care for who he hurts. His mother was left destitute because of his birth. His father thinks of him and only feels regret for his moment of weakness in bedding his mother. The Harbinger is dead by his actions and it’s a wonder his family puts up with the trouble he brings onto their doorstep.”

“He’s a plague,” Rolff seethed, “A man with too much power and not enough sense. He needs to be stopped.”

“No, my enemy.” The Dunmer countered, “ _He needs to be taught a lesson_.”

A lesson. Yes. _Yes._ A lesson in pain and suffering. All of what he has dealt, he should feel a thousand fold. Rolff felt his heart speeding up in his chest, in his hands, his head. “What does your lord get from me if Drakon dies?” His voice was low, guttural and near unrecognizable.

“Oh, my enemy. What my lord gets is what he hopes you will give him. Drakon’s skull on a silver platter.” He got to his feet, the shadows of the fire making him appear less real than he already did. “What you will get is power. Retribution. Influence beyond your wildest, most feverish dreams.”

He extended one blue skinned hand and let it hang in the air over the flames. “All you have to do, Rolff Stone-Fist is accept. Accept the power my lord offers. Take your vengeance, my enemy. For Skyrim. For Galmar.”

Silence overcame them, filled them, nearly overwhelmed. Rolff, after spending the last several hours hearing his own heart thundering in his ears, heard nothing. He was cold. He was numb. He was empty.

But what he was not was lost. Not anymore. He did not find his direction. At his lowest point, it had found him. It was standing before him, hand outstretched, _begging_ him to take it and without hesitation or even the slightest hint of doubt, Rolff Stone-Fist did just that.

Bright light sparked off to the side. Rolff turned his head to see a tiny tongue of sickly green flame sitting in the dirt but leaving the plants around it unharmed. It started to run, curving around the pair, leaving a long trail of bright emerald fire in its wake. It circled around again and again until walls of green fire roared high into the air.

There was still no hesitation. There was still no doubt.

With the same suddenness, the fires fell. The campfire had been choked out. The Man and the Mer were gone.

Total quiet took hold and he sun began to rise in the east, warm, golden rays casting deep shadows from the nearby desolate ruins of Helgen over the tall trees of Falkreath Hold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it was worth the wait. This would've been out earlier but I had two major essays due last Sunday


End file.
